


Strayrim

by SweetPotatoKimchi



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Eventual Romance, M/M, POV Third Person Omniscient, Prostitution, Rating May Change, Skyrim Civil War, Skyrim Main Quest, Skyrim Spoilers, Slow Burn, Soldiers, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetPotatoKimchi/pseuds/SweetPotatoKimchi
Summary: Bang Chan, Thane of Solitude; Do'Woojin, Khajiit Caravan Guard; Lee Minho, Enslaved Prostitute ; Seo Changbin, Imperial Legate; Hwang Hyunjin, Thalmor Agent; Han Jisung, Stormcloak Foot Soldier; Lee Felix, Orphaned Nord Traveler; Kim Seungmin, Vampire Lord of Harkon's Court; Yang Jeongin, Dragonborn with a hidden birthright; Nine men; Nine lives; Two Fandoms; One story.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamstaynotstray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamstaynotstray/gifts).



> Hello lovely readers!  
> For all of the Stay who've never heard of Skyrim, hopefully I don't leave you totally confused as I throw in tons of lore and names and locations you've never heard of nor care about.  
> But, I love this game ALMOST (not really, nothing can match it) as much as I love Stray Kids. And my sister and I decided it would be fun to see what Stray Kids would be like in the world of Skyrim.  
> So, I started a multi-chapter fic.  
> All nine members play a huge role in the full story. I've written several chapters, so far, and have a full twenty planned out, as of now.  
> I have NO idea how to tag this story, so bare with the ones I found, and If you think I need to add some, let me know.  
> As for the rating, it may go up because I have a filthy mind and like to write filthy things. However, I WILL NOTIFY AT THE BEGINNING OF CHAPTERS if that becomes the case.  
> As for the gifting/dedication. This story is dedicated to a faithful stay who has helped me fell less alone in life. Terryakiee/Iamstaynotstray ....I love you.  
> thank you to my sister for helping be my bouncing board and for consistently playing out sections of the story ON the game so I could find pointless dialogue and names to reference.

The early morning mists brushed across the waves, as they fought their way towards the eastern, rising sun. A large ship, pushing against the current made its way past Solitude Lighthouse. As it was still early; only a few crew members were on deck, and most passengers were still asleep. The captain of the ship, a large Argonian man, bellowed to his first mate to awaken the ship’s passengers. 

The first mate pushed below deck and called out, “Wake up, ye landlubbers! We’re comin’ up on Solitude. We’ll be there in under thirty minutes. I expect ye’ll be wantin’ to see the great city as we approach. And I know our captain is right ready to be rid of the lot of you.” 

As the first mate finished his speech, those in the room began stirring, wiping sleep from their eyes as they began to ready themselves to head on deck. One passenger in particular, a lean but tall Nord man, dressed in a sturdy set of chitin armor, grabbed his lone pack and rushed up the stairs. 

As he came on deck, his eyes widened, taking in the sight of the great capital of Skyrim, high up above. Solitude was magnificent in its size and daring in its location. Built upon the large, natural rock arch which stretched over the Estuary that joined the Karth River to the Sea of Ghosts, Solitude loomed over the ship, as it sailed towards the docks joined to the East Empire Company’s great Warehouse. The Nord man, Lee Felix, stood at the bow of the ship, watching as, after years away, he neared the land of his birth. 

The rest of the passengers were making their way on deck, but Felix was too caught up in nostalgia to pay any attention to them. As they finally neared the docks, Felix pulled a piece of parchment from his bag. He unfolded the parchment to read the words on the page, once more. 

_ Dear Cousin, _

_ I recently heard tale of the passing of my dear Aunt and Uncle.  _

_ My feelings of sadness cannot compare with those of your own, I’m sure. _

_ However, know that my sympathies extend to you, as does the assurance  _

_ that you always have a place at my hearth.  _

_ Faithfully yours, _

_ Lord Chan ~ Thane of Solitude _

 

As Felix finished rereading the letter, the ship he was on finally anchored, and connected to the dock. The captain of the ship dismissed the passengers quickly, and Felix was first to step from the ship. He waved his thanks and followed the boardwalk up to the main road, stepping aside as a few Argonian dock workers carried a large crate paste him. At the top of the staircase, leading up from the boardwalk, rested a tall lamp post, the candlelight inside, just burning out. 

With dawn behind him, he moved west, following behind a Solitude patrolman as he made his way up the road. As he followed the man, he noted what appeared to be a large windmill on his left. The nickering of horses could be heard as he continued along the main road, and a sign read  _ Katla’s Farm.  _ Up on his right, there was a guards tower, where he noticed a large horse drawn carriage parked outside. As he neared, a pleasant man cheerfully said, “My carriage is the safest way to travel, should you need my assistance, lad.” 

Felix, with an equally bright smile responded, “I appreciate the offer, good sir. But Solitude is where I’ve been looking to go. However, if you happen to know where I can find the Thane, I’d appreciate the tip.” 

The driver, Thaer, frowned, slightly. “I only drive to the cities, I don’t typically enter them. But, I hear the Winking Skeever, the town’s inn, is full of all sorts. I imagine someone up there ought to be able to point you in the right direction.” 

Felix, ever the generous one, tossed the main a gold septim. “Thanks for your help. If I need to head anywhere else, I’ll be back to enlist your aid.” 

“Thank ye kindly,” Thaer responded, as Felix moved right, past the guard tower, towards the main gate of Solitude. There were several guardsmen along the road, but noone stopped him along his journey or questioned his intent. 

As he entered the capital, he was curious to see a large crowd gathered, where a man, bound and in roughspun tunic, was bent over a stone slab and beheaded. The man who was executed was a Stormcloak favorer, named Raggvir. He had opened the gate for Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm, who proceeded to enter the city, challenge High King Torygg to single combat over the rulership of Skyrim and finally shouted the high king to pieces with his great Thu’um. 

The crowd appeared to be mostly in favor of the execution, however Felix noted, sadly, a girl, who claimed to be Raggvir’s niece, was sent from the square before the axe could swing. As he watched the child run from the scene, a few drops of rain began to fall, washing away the traces of blood, running down the rocks. 

The rain picked up quickly, and Felix, through blurry vision, looked for a sign that could help him locate the Winking Skeever. The first sign he saw was on his right, for a shop called, Radiant Raiment. He moved to his left where another building was, and read the sign “The Winking Skeever.” Eagerly, he pushed through the double doors, hoping to find shelter within. 

The inn was a large, stone building. The first thing Felix noted were the large heads of beasts mounted on different walls and pillars, most notably a large sabertooth, a great wolf and a horker. On the ground lay a large carpet, blues and yellows spun intricately. Benches and tables filled the rooms, and Felix could almost instantly hear the munching of various foods. Other than that, it was surprisingly quiet in the room. Most of the other people seemed content to eat and rest from the storm in silence. A gray cat ran across the stone floor, pawing at Felix’s boot. 

He crouched, and smiled at the creature, petting its head when it purred against his leg. 

Corpulus Vinius, owner of the establishment called out, “Hello, friend! Glad you decided to stop in! What can I get for you?” 

Felix, curiously stood, asking the man, “I could do with a strong drink and a bit of information, if you have it.” 

Corpulus grinned, “I have food for the hungry and drink for the thirsty! What is your drink of choice?” He moved behind his bar, and began rummaging for a flagon.” 

Felix, smiled wryly, “I haven’t been in Skyrim since I was a child. I hate to say it, but I’ve never had any of Skyrim’s best known beverages. What would you recommend?” 

The innkeeper pulled out four bottles. “These are the most traditional options,” He explained, “We have a good traditional Ale, it’s certainly the least expensive of the lot, good for it’s price but not what I would recommend to a Skyrim born lad who’s never had a real drink. Alto Wine might do you well, but it’s the Mead’s I’d recommend. Black-Briar comes from Riften, and is the top of its line. Honningbrew comes out from near Whiterun and is a delicacy you’d do well to try.” 

Felix thought for a moment, “Well, I believe my grandmother was from Whiterun, so I suppose I’ll go with the Honningbrew Mead.” 

Corpulus grinned, “That’s a good lad, there. I spent some time in Whiterun as a child, would I have heard of your grandmother?” He began to pour a flagon for Felix.

Felix shook his head, “I imagine not, but I do hope you’ve heard of my cousin.” 

Corpulus smiled, “Ah that bit of information you were looking for?” 

“Yes, I’m hoping to find my cousin, Lord Chan.” 

Corpulus’ eyes rose, “The Thane?” He grinned, “Good man! Comes in here often for a drink.” He laughed to himself, “That man has quite the voice when he gets drunk enough to sing!” He appraised Felix, “I don’t suppose you know a song or two? I’d be willing to pay if you’re any good, or throw in a room if you need it.” 

Felix smiled, “Do you have a Lute on hand?” 

Corpulus grinned, “I do indeed, upstairs in one of the rooms. Would you be interested in playing for a room?” 

Felix thought for a moment, “Well, it depends on if you had information on where I can find Lord Chan.” 

Corpulus nodded, “I believe the Thane is currently out of the city on business for the Jarl. He shouldn’t be back for a day or two. I can have some friends keep an out for his return, and in exchange for your performance, I can put you up for the next few days while you await his return.” 

Felix nodded, “It sounds like a deal.” 

The next few day passed quickly, with Felix performing, resting and drinking his fill of Skyrim’s finest ales and meads. Corpulus continued to treat him well, however Felix noted with distaste how the innkeeper seemed conditional on his list of who to treat well. A few Argonian dock workers were served, but very reluctantly and with cruel words whispered behind their backs. At one point, the innkeeper snarkily and seriously stated, “Traders, civil wars and dragons, bah. Those troubles don’t cross my doorway.” Little did he know, two of those things were nearing Solitude’s gates as he spoke.


	2. A Khajiit Has News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do’Woojin, a Khajiit caravan guard was making his way to solitude, bringing with him news from Helgen. His caravan had been camping just outside the city of Helgen, when a large shadow had crossed over their campfire, towards the city which was, within moments, engulfed in flames and screams. Do’Woojin and his brothers in arms, fought to help the citizens of Helgen, as a large dragon, long thought to be extinct, wrought its horrors upon the buildings and citizens of the town. Unfortunately, the dragon also wrought its horrors upon Do’Woojin’s caravan, leaving him the only survivor of his people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So,  
> For those of you who are unfamiliar with Skyrim....allow me to give a little background.
> 
> Khajiit.   
> Khajiit are cat people who (yes, I made Woojin a cat) are basically gypsies in Skyrim (like caravan merchant people). They also speak almost entirely in the third person - their native language doesn't contain "I".   
> So, Woojin is probably going to seem a little OOC. BUT, once he eventually grows closer to the group, he will become more himself and less....well Khajiit.   
> Also, for those players of Skyrim...yeah... I might have gone a little overboard on the third person... it didn't help that I was watching Game of Thrones while I wrote this and Arya kept saying "A girl has no name".   
> Another important thing in Khajiit culture is their naming and titles system. All Khajiit have very unique names. "Do" which is in front of Woojin's name is a reference to his status as a Warrior. And, as he was the guard of his caravan, that's the name that makes the most sense for him to have.   
> Anyways, that should be all the background required, here!   
> So...hopefully you'll enjoy!

Do’Woojin, a Khajiit caravan guard was making his way to solitude, bringing with him news from Helgen. His caravan had been camping just outside the city of Helgen, when a large shadow had crossed over their campfire, towards the city which was, within moments, engulfed in flames and screams. Do’Woojin and his brothers in arms, fought to help the citizens of Helgen, as a large dragon, long thought to be extinct, wrought its horrors upon the buildings and citizens of the town. Unfortunately, the dragon also wrought its horrors upon Do’Woojin’s caravan, leaving him the only survivor of his people. 

While a large part of the Khajiit felt ashamed by his survival and considered ending his life as punishment for his failure, a deeper part of himself felt honor bound to bring news of the dragon calamity to those with power and resources sufficient enough to do something about it. Which is what led him on that particular day, to enter the gates of Solitude and the Winking Skeever. 

When Do’Woojin entered the building, it was to the sound of Lee Felix’s rendition of “The Dragonborn Comes.” The Khajiit approached Corpulus Vinius who, upon seeing Do’Woojin, immediately stood - fury on his face. 

“Your kind is not welcome here,” He spat at Do’Woojin.

Do’Woojin, eyes wide, said, “A Khajiit has news for the leaders of Solitude.” 

Corpulus moved towards Do’Woojin, “An Innkeeper has a knife for all Khajiit who don’t leave immediately.” 

Felix, to the side, stopped playing and watched the scene anxiously. 

Do’Woojin hesitated, but continued towards Corpulus, anyway. He was dressed in hide armor, with a large shield in hand. An equally large katana was sheathed at his side. “A Khajiit does not fear for his life alone but the lives of all those in Skyrim.” He turned to Felix, “It is not the dragonborn that comes, but the dragons themselves.” 

Felix’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Corpulus, with a raucous laugh burst out, “Dragons? By the gods, get out of my establishment with all your foolish lies, or I will throw you out, on my knife.” 

Do’Woojin held his hands up in surrender, “A Khajiit has come in peace to aid those here. Why won’t you listen to a Khajiit’s tale?” 

Corpulus, “I don’t listen to anything your kind says, and I never will. In fact, noone here want to hear your filthy lies, get-” 

Felix finally interrupted, “I’ll listen to your tale,” He said, firmly, eyeing Corpulus with distaste. “But I won’t do it here. We are better than this establishment. I thank you for your service the last few days, Corpulus, but I will be going now.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “I will pay you for the lute, as I’ve grown rather fond of it.” He reached to the side, and grabbed his pack, before moving towards the door, gesturing for Do’Woojin to lead the way.

“A Khajiit blesses the sun kissed one,” Do’Woojin said as they entered the streets together. “By what name does the sun kissed call himself?” 

Felix smiled, “My name is Felix, and a Khajiit?” 

“This Khajiit has been called many names, but,” Do’Woojin hesitated, as if the next word he was forming was very hard to say, “I have always favored Do’Woojin.” 

Felix nodded, “Divines bless, Do’Woojin. I’m interested in your tale, if you’d like to share it.” 

The afternoon was fading quickly at this point, and together the two made their way through the city, towards the Blue Palace. Felix had wandered through the city a few times over the last few days, but had not yet attempted entering the great palace. However, with his new friend and the story he had to tell, he felt the best thing to do, would be for Do’Woojin to bring his tale to the court of requests. They reached the Blue Palace in a decent amount of time, the day not quite faded to evening. The hours of the court were still in session, for a small time more. 

“A Khajiit must bare his burdens alone,” Do’Woojin whispered, as they reached the

doors. 

Felix nodded, “I will wait for you here, friend. The blessings of the eight be upon you.” 

Do’Woojin nodded, entering the palace. He proceeding inside. The first room in the building was a large sitting area, potted plants, hanging moss and soldiers littered the space. 

“State your business,” one of the soldiers demanded of Do’Woojin.

“A Khajiit brings news of Helgen to the High King,” Do’Woojin stated. 

The soldier, mockingly, stated, “A Khajiit apparently is too stupid to know that there is no high king, not anymore.” 

Do’Woojin furrowed his furry brow, “Who is in charge?” He asked.

“Jarl Elisif, late wife to the High King,” the soldier stated.  

“A Khajiit wishes to speak with the Jarl, then.” 

The soldier sighed, “The Jarl is no longer accepting requests or supplications. However, the Jarl’s Thane could hear your  _ oh  _ so important, news.” 

“A Khajiit will speak with whomever will listen,” Do’Woojin nodded, gratefully. 

The soldier gestured, “I will escort you, then.” He led Do’Woojin up the great staircase, which filled a large portion of the great room. Archways and columns were everywhere to be seen, but as they climbed the stairs, it was the throne room that Do’Woojin noted. The throne area took up the left portion of the hall, while a few grand chairs and tables were to the right side of the room. 

Seated at one of these chairs was a tall, muscular man, a Breton, who was busy pouring himself a glass of wine. 

“My Lord Thane,” The soldier stated, “This Khajiit has some news he insists on bringing to the courts attention.” 

Lord Chan turned to the soldier and Do’Woojin. “Thank you, Karl, I can happily take it from here.” He turned to Do’Woojin, “Would you like a glass of wine, friend?” 

Do’Woojin nodded, gratefully, “A Khajiit’s journey has been long. Thank you, Thane.” 

Lord Chan smiled, pouring Do’Woojin a drink. “Tell me of your tale, friend.” Do’Woojin sat and began his story. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone wondering about the title of this chapter... it's a play on an in game phrase "A Khajiit has wares if you have coin." 
> 
> Anyways.... thank you so much for reading!   
> Please comment; they help me so much!! 
> 
> You may have noticed the tag, but I just wanted to state that I'm writing in the 3rd person omniscient point of view so that I can feel free to drop in random bits of lore. That being said, each chapter is going to have one MAIN focus. Next chapter is Chan.   
> I love you all!! 
> 
> ~SweetPotatoKimchi~


	3. Thane of Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do'Woojin tells a Thane his tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me longer than desired to update. I have been busy with some of my others stories. And sorry this one is shorter than perhaps would be desired. Chapter Four is mostly written and already 3 times the size of any other chapter. Enjoy!!

Bang Chan had grown up a noble in Solitude. His father was a thane before him and his mother, initially a noblewoman born in Whiterun, had been his father’s housecarl. His mother was sister to Felix’s mother, who had married a Nordic traveler. Chan hadn’t seen his cousin Felix since they were both very small. 

Growing up a noble, Chan easily could have been taught extortion and manipulation, but his father had strived to teach his son how to live an honorable life, full of duty and respect for all people. That is the principle that made him different than the other thanes of Solitude. When Do’Woojin came in with his tale, there were other people in the room to hear the tale. And upon hearing the tale, they laughed and jeered and made fun of the story, for no reason but that it was told by a race considered lower than themselves. 

Chan, however, was disgusted by their behavior and adamant in his desire for Do’Woojin to be taken seriously. However, even the other thanes and the Jarl herself refused to listen without evidence or another testimony. Chan stated firmly that he and Do’Woojin would be back with validation from a trusted source. He escorted Do’Woojin from the room, offering the Khajiit a room in his home while they waited for things to progress. 

As they were leaving the building, Do’Woojin looked around. “A Khajiit has a friend here, waiting.”

Chan turned to look where Do’Woojin was pointing and saw Felix leaning against one of the columns that littered the courtyard.   
“Do’Woojin!” Felix called, “How did it go?” 

“A Khajiit brings with him a thane who believes.”

Felix approached, hand outstretched, “Divines bless, Lord Thane. I don’t suppose you know Lord Chan?” 

Chan blinked, taken aback. “I am Lord Chan,” He said, cautiously. 

Felix grinned, shifting his handshake to full on embrace. “Chan! I’ve been looking for

you!” 

Chan coughed at the impact of the shorter male’s enthusiastic greeting. “I- do I know you?” He  asked, confused. 

Felix broke apart, “My bad,” He said, reaching into his pack for Chan’s letter. He presented it to Chan with wide smile. “The names Lee Felix, and I’ve come this way, seeking the last known member of my family.” 

Chan didn’t need to open the letter to know what it would say. His face turned somber, “I am glad you’ve come, cousin. You’ve been much in my thoughts these last few months. When I didn’t hear back from you, I feared you had also caught ill. I am honored to have you here with me, last of my family as well. I’ve already extended my hearth to Do’Woojin and would be pleased if you would both stay with me.” He gestured down the road towards a large manor.

They walked towards it, chattering about menial things. One of the buildings they passed, on the right, was lively and full of music, “What’s that building?” Felix asked, curiously.

“That would be the Bard’s College, Cousin.” Chan said eagerly. “I have often entered its halls to further my musical studies.”

“A Khajiit has been told his voice is soothing to hear.” Do’Woojin said, eagerly. He turned to look at Felix, “And, when a Khajiit entered the Winking Skeever, Felix was performing on his Lute.” 

Chan grinned, eagerly, “I am pleased to hear that I am not the only one with a propensity for song.” He pointed towards the stairs wrapping around the manor. “This is my home, here,” he said, “Proudspire Manor.” 

The climbed the stairs quickly, pushing into the warmth of Chan’s home. A great hall greeted them upon entrance. Through an archway to the right, the three men moved into the dining area, where the hearth was ablaze. “Can I interest either of you in a salmon steak?” Chan asked, as they took their seats around the table. “Or,” He continued his questioning, “I believe I also have some chicken I could prepare.” 

Do’Woojin’s ears immediately perked up at the sound of chicken. “Chicken? A Khajiit has not had his favorite in so long.” 

Felix grinned, “I’m pretty partial to the fish,” he said eagerly. “I’ve lived on various coasts long enough to have an appreciation for a salmon steak cooked properly.” 

Chan smirked, “I can’t promise it’s perfect to everyone’s tastes, but I do make what I consider a great Salmon steak.” 

He stood up, again, and began preparing the meal. “I’d think a fancy Lord like you would have servants to do this for you, no cousin?” Felix asked curiously.

Chan laughed, “I have plenty. I just like to know everything that goes into my food.” 

Felix nodded, “I can understand that. Do you two want to fill me in on what happened at the Blue Palace?” 

“A Khajiit was not trusted on his word alone,” Do’Woojin stated. 

Chan rolled his eyes, “The bloody fools of the court can’t see truth when it’s smacking them in the foot because they refuse to bend their necks and look at what’s in their path.” 

Felix laughed, “I take it that you fared no better than inside the Winking Skeever?”

Do’Woojin snickered, “At least none of those in the palace insisted on throwing Do’Woojin out on their knives.” 

Chan raised his eyebrow, “I see you met our local Corpulus Vinius -  Innkeeper, purveyor of fine drinks and pigheaded racist?” 

Felix nodded, “I’d say you about have him pegged! But, considering how often he claims you frequent his establishment for those fine drinks, should I be surprised?” 

“I suppose not,” Chan surmised. “Anyway, back to the important business. Basically the Jarl will not act upon Do’Woojin’s testimony without validation or further backing by a trusted source.” He paused, thinking, “However, I’m not too worried. I know exactly who will help us. It’s just a matter of waiting for him to get back in town.” 

Felix groaned, miserably, leaning back in his seat. “This town might as well be called ‘waiting.’” he mumbled, “For all the waiting and little acting I’ve been able to do while here. What’s the good in having a city, if the people who live there are never actually home?” 

Do’Woojin smirked, “A Khajiit would point out that the name of the city  _ is  _ Solitude.” He turned to Chan, “A Khajiit is curious about who can be trusted to aid?” 

Chan smiled, “Legate Seo. He’s been my closest friend since we were children.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! I'm glad that I'm not the only video game nerd in the STAY fandom :P
> 
> ~SweetPotatoKimchi~


	4. Kickin' Undead Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legate Seo Changbin is on a personal quest to locate his parents' murderer. His hunt brings him to Morthal. Will he find the clues he's looking for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another chapter!! This one legit doubled the word count for the story so far (no...Changbin isn't my bias, what?) Anyways, thank you for continuing to read this!! I appreciate every comment, kudos, and view.

Legate Seo Changbin approached Morthal with a gracious heart. After several long days by hired carriage, he was finally at his destination. He regretted his choice to remain outfitted in his  official, imperial armor. The heavy metal clanked as he jumped down from the carriage and thanked the driver one final time. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he pushed through several inches of snow and crossed the stone bridge leading towards the center of Morthal. The air was thick with fog, but Changbin could make out marsh waters to the left and right. He looked up after crossing the bridge, noticing with extreme relief a sign that read “Moorside Inn.” He immediately walked up the wooden steps and opened a creaky wooden door. Several people littered the room. One, an orc, was playing a terrible rendition of “Ragnar the Red,” on a tattered lute. 

On the far side of the large, open room, stood Jonna, Moorside’s innkeeper. She stood behind a counter, arranging a few flagons. She was also stirring a pot of what smelled like rabbit stew. “Divines bless,” Changbin greeted, warmly.

Jonna looked up, blinking. “Divines bless. Welcome to Moorside. Can I interest you in food or drink? Or are you looking for a place to stay?” 

Changbin set his bag down on the ground next to his feet. “All of the above, actually. I’ve just arrived from Solitude on personal business. That stew you’re making smells delicious. I don’t suppose I could have some?” 

Jonna smiled, “If you can pay, you can have as much as you can handle.” 

Changbin laughed, “Perfect. I’ll take a bowl of that, your strongest ale and a room for the night.” 

With a nod, Jonna began readying Changbin’s order. “Would you like to eat now, or would you like me to show you to your room, now?” 

“I’m famished, so if it’s not too much trouble I’ll take some of the stew now.”

Jonna quickly poured the stew and ale, throwing in a slice of warm bread. “This should help ease that hunger of yours.” Changbin ate in a rush, gratefully following Jonna to a small room off to the right, after finishing the meal. 

“Can I get you anything else, tonight?” Jonna asked, sincerely.

Changbin shook his head, “Not tonight, no, but I’ll have some questions for you in the morning.” 

“Very well. Blessings of the nine be yours as you sleep,” She said with a wave, leaving Changbin alone.

Changbin went to bed almost immediately and, most likely due to the exhaustion from traveling, slept for a solid nine hours. When he woke up, he could tell it was past noon. He packed up his bag, slinging it once more over his shoulder before he headed to the main room of the inn. Jonna was, again, behind her bar. Although, this time she was sweeping. Changbin approached her immediately. 

“Afternoon,” He said warmly. 

“Hello,” She responded equally warm. “Can I get you anything or are you here for that information you mentioned?” 

“Both?” Changbin more asked than stated. “I’d love more of that bread and stew if you’ve got some?” 

She nodded, “I always do. Just a moment.” She busied herself serving him. “Feel free to ask your questions.” 

“Well, I’m hunting some vampires,” Changbin said cautiously. Jonna looked up, eyes wide. 

“Alone?” She shook her head, “You’re either very skilled or very stupid.” 

Changbin laughed, “Can’t I be both?” 

She laughed, “I’ll answer that if you come back, alive.” She placed the food in front of Changbin.

“Right,” Changbin nodded, digging in. He chewed a moment before trying to speak around the food in his mouth. “Anyways, I’m looking for anyone who might have helpful information. I’m attempting to locate Harkon’s Court.” 

She furrowed her brows, “I can’t say I’ve ever heard that particular name,” She thought for a moment, “But I can point you in the direction of my brother? He’s the local wizard, here. When he studied at the college in Winterhold, he spent a large portion of his time researching vampires. Part of why we moved out here was because of the high vampiric activity in the marshes.” 

Changbin raised his eyebrows. “That’s very interesting. And he definitely sounds like my best bet,” He agreed. 

Jonna nodded, “Indeed,” The door opened just then and a little girl ran inside the inn. “Ah, perfect timing. Agni,” She called, gesturing the girl over. The girl sulked her way over. “I need you to take this man to Master Falion, when he’s done eating.” 

The girl turned to appraise Changbin, “What does a soldier need with Master Falion?” 

Changbin grinned at the girl and her somewhat haughty attitude. “I need help,” He said simply. 

She nodded, “Master Falion helps me with my studies, often.” She turned to Jonna, “I can help,” She said firmly. She climbed up on a stool next to Changbin. “What’s it like being a soldier?” 

Changbin broke off a piece of his bread and handed it to her. She grinned at him, while he answered. “Well, I grew up in Castle Dour. My father was a general. So, I don’t really know what it’s like to be anything  _ but  _ a soldier.” 

She raised her eyebrows, “Your father was a general?” 

He nodded, “Yes. Although, my father and mother both died when I was twelve.” 

She looked down sadly. “My parents are both dead, too. Master Falion takes care of me.” She looked up with a smile, “I’m going to train in the college someday,” She said firmly. 

Jonna shook her head, “Not if Falion has anything to say about it,” she said. 

Agni pouted, “It’s not fair of him to tell me no! How can I be his true apprentice, if I haven’t studied magic like him?” 

“My parents didn’t want me to be a soldier, either,” Changbin said, slowly. Agni turned to him with wide eyes.

“They didn’t?” 

He shook his head, “Not at all. I was actually training under the blacksmith when they died. But, General Tulius was close friends with my father and when he took me in after they died, got sick of my begging and eventually let me join the legion.” 

Agni was looking at him with awe, “Are you good?” 

Changbin grinned, “Well, I’m the youngest soldier to become a Legate, so probably.” 

Agni clapped her hands, “That’s it!” She cried out. “If I can just show Falion that I can be better than anyone else, maybe he’ll let me go to the college!” 

“I didn’t realize I was serving Legate Seo,” Jonna suddenly stated. 

Changbin turned to her. “You know my name?” 

“The youngest Legate in the legion?” she nodded, “Even in the remote marshes of Morthal, your name has traveled.” She raised her eyebrow, “Is it true that you single handedly retook Fort Snowhawk?” 

Changbin blushed, “I mean, single handedly? Not quite… I had some help.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “How many?” 

Changbin looked away, embarrassed, “One..” 

She laughed, heartily. “I take back what I said, earlier.” 

Changbin looked at her curiously. 

“You might just be able to take care of the vampires your after, Legate. You should have told me who you were. The Bandits up at Snowhawk were giving us some serious trouble. I’d have served you free of charge.” 

Changbin shook his head firmly. “My title doesn’t exist to take advantage of others or their businesses. It does the realm no good to deny the economy.” 

Jonna smiled, “Well, next time you’re passing through Morthal, at least allow me to give

you a few rounds on the house?” She gave him a stern look and Changbin nodded in agreement.

“Very well.” He turned to Agni, “Do you think you might take me to your master, now?” 

Agni hopped up, “Yup! Follow me!” 

Changbin said farewell to Jonna, throwing in a generous tip, before turning and following Agni out the door. Now that it was light out, Changbin noticed that his carriage driver the night before had driven much farther into town than he expected. Agni moved quickly through the moorside village. She hopped onto a boardwalk that wrapped around one side and moved to the furthest house. She knocked once before opening up.

“Master?” She called, gesturing Changbin inside. 

“Agni?” A deep voice called from within. Changbin took note of the tall man, in wizards robes. He took in the sight of Changbin and immediately tensed up. “If you stand before me to accuse me of sacrificing children, or eating the hearts of the dead, you may save your breath. I have done no such thing, nor do I intend to. I simply wish to live my life in peace!” 

Changbin blinked, realizing his official armor was probably giving off the wrong impression. “Not at all, sir. I’ve come seeking your help, not your head.” 

Falion looked him over, skeptical. “What does the imperial legion want with me?” 

Changbin shook his head, “I realize now I ought to have left my official armor at home. I come not as a Legate but as a man on a personal mission.” 

Agni grabbed onto Falion’s sleeve and tugged, gesturing him down. Falion turned and leaned down. “This is Legate Seo,” She whispered, loud enough that Changbin could still pick it up. Falion looked back up in shock. 

“Apologies, Legate. Not all in this area take kindly to mages. Superstitions are all too common, here.” 

“That’s fine,” Changbin said kindly. “Call me Changbin. As I said, I’m not here as a Legate, but as one on a personal mission. I do come looking for the supernatural, though.” He added, cautiously. 

Falion gestured him into a chair. “Very well, Changbin. Tell me what I can do for you.” 

Changbin nodded, “Your sister mentioned that you might be able to help me locate the vampires I’m searching for. What do you know of the area?” 

Falion raised his eyebrow. “The march is treacherous. You’d do well to not wander at night.” 

Changbin nodded, “Have there been attacks?” 

Falion nodded, “There’s a cave nearby, which I suspect is overrun.” 

“Any connection to Harkon?”

Falion’s eyes widened. “How do you know that name?” 

“He’s the vampire I’m looking for,” Changbin stated bluntly. “He murdered my parents.” 

The room was quiet for a moment, Falion appraising Changbin. “I don’t know if Harkon has a connection to these vampires, although from the little I’ve been able to observe, this vampire is incredibly old. Are you planning on going in alone?” 

Changbin smiled, “I always work in a pair.” 

Falion looked around. “I don’t see anyone with you.” 

Changbin laughed, “I didn’t say I work with another person.” He closed his fist and channeled his energy, releasing it in a burst of blue light. A howl was the first sound that entered the room, as a large wolf appeared at Changbin’s side. “This is my familiar, Gyu.” If the wolf had a fully tangible body it might have been black or silver, but as it was a spiritual projection, it shimmered a turquoise color.

“Is this the real reason they call you the Wolf of Solitude?” Falion asked, curiously, standing up to appraise Gyu. 

Changbin shrugged, “Perhaps. It is one reason the legion sends me on solo missions. I track better alone.” 

“I suppose the gifts of the wood elves don’t hurt, either?” He turned to look Changbin up 

and down, focusing for a moment on Changbin’s ears. 

Changbin shrugged, “It definitely doesn’t hurt to be able to speak with animals. Especially when I come across giants’ camps. No matter how well the giants train their mammoths, they will listen to me when I command.” 

“So, when you told Jonna that only two of you took the fort, did you mean that only you and Gyu went in?” Agni suddenly asked, her face full of awe. 

Changbin blushed, again. “Maybe.” 

Agni giggled, “That’s awesome!” She turned to Falion, “If I learn to summon a familiar will you let me go to the college?” 

Falion turned to her with a groan, “Agni, we’ve had this conversation a thousand times. I don’t want you going to the college. I can train you here, better.” 

She furrowed her brow. “But, Master-” 

“Agni. Not now. If you truly want to learn to summon a familiar we can work on that, later, but first you need to work on basic concentration. You still can’t hold a stable magelight.” 

She grumbled, “Fine. But if I can hold a stable one for over five minutes, can we move on to familiars?” 

Falion sighed, heavily, dragging his hand down his face. “Fine. But that means you’re going to have to work extra hard, and if you keep pushing this college business I’m going to change my mind.” 

“Yes Master,” Agni said, turning to a table with a book on it. 

Falion turned back to Changbin. “Sorry for the interruption.” 

Changbin shook his head, “Don’t be. She reminds me of myself. I wasn’t supposed to be a soldier, but I pushed until I got my way.” He thought for a moment, “Can you perhaps show me on a map where I can locate the cave? I’d also love it if you could point me in the direction of a good clothing shop. It’s come to my attention that my Legate armour is way too conspicuous.” 

Falion nodded, “I can point out the cave. Unfortunately, you won’t find much in the way of shops here. However, I might have a set of robes or clothing I’d be willing to sell you.” 

Changbin thought for a moment, “Very well. Let me see what you’ve got. I’ll probably only be wearing it on the road or inside cities, stick to my armor in fights, so I suppose it doesn’t have to be as durable.” 

The next half hour passed quickly, with Falion mapping out Changbin’s route and showing him the clothing options he possessed. Changbin eventually settled on a simple miner’s white tunic and brown pants. He folded them up into his bag and turned to Falion, “Thank you for everything, Falion,” Changbin said. “Next time I’m in town I’ll be sure to check in with you and Agni.” 

Falion nodded, “Sure thing. Also, if you happen to get infected in that cave, I’ve been looking into ways of reversing vampirism. I can’t guarantee anything, but I might be able to help.” 

Changbin nodded, “Thanks, Falion. I’d best head out, I’d rather not go looking for the cave after dark.” 

“Safe journey. May the divines protect you.” Falion nodded, walking him to his door. 

Changbin dismissed Gyu right before he left, planning on calling him back only after they had made it to their destination. 

The cave was not more than an hours walk from town, but it wasn’t a pleasant journey. The marsh was easy to get lost in, if it was wandered into. Changbin tried to stick to the natural paths headed the direction he wanted, using the sun and a guiding spell to aid him. When it came to actual fighting, Changbin was most adept with a short sword and shield, as per his training. But he could wield most weapons and was a master with his bow. The magic he used was primarily conjuration, as with his familiar, and alteration, such as the guidance spells. That isn’t to say that he couldn’t channel other destructive spells, simply that he prefered weapons fighting. 

As Changbin neared his destination he hummed a familiar Bosmeri lullaby his mother used to sing him. The sun was starting its decent when he started to find blood trails. He followed them swiftly and as discreetly as possible. The air around the cave was eerily quiet as he approached. Before he was there, completely, he channeled his energy once more and conjured up Gyu. 

“Attention, Boy,” He whispered. 

Gyu looked up at him with a tilt of his head, before he leaned forward, growling softly. He sniffed the ground and cautiously approached. Changbin followed just behind. Taking in a deep breath, Changbin and Gyu entered the cave. 

He blinked, adjusting to the changes in light. Even with the scattered torches around the entrance, the room was significantly darker than outside. Changbin chanted a quick spell of night vision, before Gyu and he moved forward. Once inside the cave, there was a downward slope, and what appeared to be a twenty foot drop. The area was littered with spider webs. Changbin drew his sword and his shield of solitude, cautiously walking down. Gyu moved in front of him, providing sufficient warning as he lunged forward into the dim lighting. 

Two giant frostbite spiders freed themselves from a large web against the far wall. Changbin swung his sword once, before lunging forward quickly. He cut down the arachnid quickly, noting that Gyu was already ripping out the throat of the other. They had, thankfully, worked quickly enough that the spiders had no real chance to fight back. He approached both of the dead creatures, pulling his steel knife out. He carefully extracted a viles worth of venom from each, before tucking all of it back into his pouch. 

He made a clicking sound with his tongue and Gyu approached him. He patted the spirit wolf’s head once before signaling it to continue through a tunnel, just a few feet in front of them. The wolf did so quickly and Changbin followed. Through the tunnel he could see an empty room and a fork in the cave system. At the fork, was a table with a single person seated, eating something Changbin couldn’t see. Changbin paused, drawing his bow and quiver from his back. He dipped an arrow into the freshly collected spider venom, loading his bow. He crouched down low and pulled the strings of the weapon taut, before releasing.

The man at the table didn’t even see it coming. The arrow lodged into the back of his neck, venom entering through the veins in his neck. The poison spread quicker than the man could react, and Gyu ran forward to finish off the kill. Changbin slowly crept down the stairs, trying not to draw unnecessary attention to himself. He looked down the right side of the fork, noting several spider webs and minimal light. However, the left side was dimly lit in the distance and he could just make out the sound of a voice, speaking. 

Changbin directed Gyu to hang back a bit and slipped down the left tunnel. He searched, cautiously, for the source of the voice, tiptoeing around tables. There was blood all over the room, as well as several severed body parts and bones. He shivered a little, uneasy, nearing a pit in the middle of the room. The voice was coming from inside, and Changbin shivered, again, at the horrifying words that were coming from the pit. When he peered inside, his blood went cold at the pile of bodies that littered the ground. A single person leaned over the bodies, rifling through pockets. Before Changbin could be noticed, he jumped into the pit, sword drawn - slashing it through the person. The person turned, slightly, as Changbin drove the sword through his heart. Shock filled eyes landed on Changbin’s face, turning glassy when Changbin pulled his sword out. The body crumpled to the ground, landing on top of the mass grave the man had been rummaging through. He kicked the body off of the other, leaning down to close the eyes of the body that he had been looting. All of the bodies in the grave, except for his own victim, had two holes in their necks, dried blood crusted around the wound. 

Changbin felt a fury, more than before, settling over him. Was this the kind of grave his parents had been placed in? His fingers tightened around his sword, and he no longer felt a passive caution as he moved towards the next cave. He whistled loudly for Gyu to follow, and fearlessly moved through the tunnel. There was both a natural downturn in the ground, and a boardwalk, he chose to follow the natural downward path, sending Gyu up top. He turned a corner at a sharp right. In the large cavern he entered, there was a ridiculously large and extravagant table. Seated at the head of the table, in a chair that was more pretentious throne than dining set, was a tall man, whose cold, pale features confirmed to Changbin, instantly, that he was not human. Gyu snarled up above him, on the boardwalk, body crouching in a defensive pose. The vampire stood, dim lighting shining against his leathery bald head, as he sneered at Changbin. 

“Nice of you to appear during dinner,” He said arrogantly. “I could use a fresh course.” 

Changbin didn’t respond, he simply approached the table with his sword drawn, twirling it in his hand, once. 

“I suppose I have you to thank for the loss of the thrall guarding the cave?” 

Changbin had heard before that master vampires had the unique ability to create thrall, who not only were required to obey all commands but were also connected to their life force.

“If you mean the useless pair more concerned with eating and looting bodies, then yes,” Changbin nodded. 

The vampire laughed, “They were rather useless, weren’t they?” He appraised Changbin, carefully. “So, tell me, little one, to what do I owe the pleasure of an Imperial Legate?” 

“I’m looking for someone,” Changbin stated firmly. 

“And you expect to find them, here?” 

“They are vampire scum, so what better place to look than the hellhole you call a lair?” 

The vampire’s expression turned sour, cold red eyes boring into Changbin’s as he squared his shoulders. “I am Movarth Piquine, Master Vampire of this region. I have lived a longer life than your puny mortal brain could possibly comprehend. Do not come into my home and mock me, filth.” 

Changbin grinned, “Should we leave your home, then? It’s nice and bright out. I’d be happy to do the mocking in the sunlight.” 

Movarth snarled, “You are unwise to challenge me, human.” 

“And yet, if you have been alive longer than my puny mortal brain could possibly comprehend, and you are a Master Vampire as you say, you are exactly the type I have sought a challenge from.” 

Movarth stared him down, “Who is it you seek, mortal?” 

“I am searching for Harkon, perhaps you’ve heard of him?” 

Movarth’s eyes widened, stare turning even more dangerous, “Where did you hear that name?” 

Changbin shrugged, “I forget.” 

Movarth glared, “One does not hear that name, easily. That name is part of how I died.” 

Changbin tried to still his beating heart. He felt closer to finding information on Harkon than he ever had before, and he knew, if he didn’t calm down and remain neutral that it would come to bite him in the ass, later. 

Changbin took a deep breath, “Tell me what you know, and I will leave here without harming anyone further.” It would hurt him to do so, to leave such a wicked creature alive, but he would do it, if it brought him that much closer to Harkon. 

“I find it charming that you think you can take me on, boy,” Movarth laughed. “I’ve tired of this discussion. Come, I’m hungry.” 

Changbin whistled for Gyu to attack. His familiar launched itself from the boardwalk, straight at Movarth who was in the process of casting a life drain spell. The vampire turned to the familiar automatically casting the spell on the Gyu. However, being a familiar, the spell was ineffective, giving Changbin a momentary advantage. He rushed forward, sword drawn in his right hand. He crashed his sword through a bottle of Alto Wine that was sitting on the table. With his left hand, he cast a flame spell and lit the alcohol now on his blade. Movarth had managed to push Gyu off, but when he turned to Changbin his eyes went wide, eyeing the flaming sword warily. He tried to back up a step, but Changbin cast a wall of flames spell, blocking his escape. Movarth was trapped between him and his blade. The vampire attempted to cast a life drain spell at Changbin, once more, but Gyu latched his teeth onto Movarth’s arm, immobilizing him. With a smirk, Changbin surged forward, driving the blade into Movarth’s abdomen.

The vampire wailed, as the flames caught on his coat and began to burn through to his flesh. Changbin took little pleasure in taking life. As an Imperial Legate he had taken dozens upon dozens of lives, in war, in raids, in hunts. Even when he killed vampires, he was still painfully aware that he was taking some creature’s final moment. Perhaps it was the nature of his birth, his wood elf heritage, but he found all life sacred. It wasn’t that he enjoyed the kill. It was that he found justice in it. He had yet to discover a vampire who treasured life. He had yet to find a bandit chief who was unwilling to cut down an innocent. If he ever did, he considered himself a person who would have mercy. But he hadn’t and so, as he watched the flames consume Movarth, he looked into his eyes, glowing red with hatred, and knew that in taking this life, he was saving countless more. 

As Movarth’s vampiric skin turned to ash, Changbin heard screeching come from several directions. From the left, two vampires came running toward him, eyes bloodshot as their sire faded. Changbin pulled his blade from Movarth and turned towards the vampires who came at him with fury. A female reached him first. He ducked beneath her claws, driving his sword between her ribs, grabbing hold of her shoulders and turning her between him and the second vampire, who cast a life drain spell. The spell hit the female in the back, and both vampires hissed, feeling its effect. Changbin pushed the corpse of the female back, into the second vampire and spun his sword in an arc, as he sliced the metal cleanly through his neck. Gyu howled behind him, and Changbin turned to see Gyu run through Movarth’s ashes, towards a thrall who was running down a wooden staircase at the back of the cavern.

The thrall was sobbing, violently, feeling the intense withdrawal of his master’s death. Changbin knew that there was no way to help a blood crazed thrall. He let Gyu take care of that thrall and moved towards the rush of footsteps coming towards him from the far end of the cavern. Another pair of thrall was running towards him. With a sadness fueled from regret, Changbin dropped his blade, grabbed his bow, and with a single, fluid motion, shot an arrow straight between the first thrall’s eyes. The final thrall almost tripped, as the other collapsed at her feet. She slowed, avoiding falling on her face, but that hesitation is what allowed Changbin enough time to send a second arrow straight through her throat. The arrow pierced suddenly, and Changbin didn’t need to see her hit the ground to know the wound was fatal. 

Changbin picked up his sword, wiping the grime off on the edge of the table, sadly. The cave had already been full of blood, but the air reeked of the metallic scent, now. He frowned, taking in the body count. Gyu padded his way over to Changbin, tail wagging, proudly. Changbin patted his head. No more thralls or vampires had come running his way. Movarth’s death had triggered a reaction in both his sire line and his thrall. Changbin assumed that if there were more, they would have run at him with the rest. But as he started to look around the cave for clues, he still kept his guard up. He also made sure to keep his eye open for any captives who could still be alive. 

He checked in a few chests and dressers for anything that could help him locate Harkon. He didn’t know for sure if there would be anything tangible. But, as Movarth had recognized the name, he was insistent upon looking through the cave. He had checked most of the lower rooms, when he decided to walk up the wooden staircase towards the back room. When he entered he was excited to see what looked like a cross between a storage room, library and laboratory. There was an alchemy table, next to a tall bookshelf. He started flipping through books on the shelves. Most were basic history and other lore books. However, one book, in particular caught his eye. 

Changbin opened  _ Immortal Blood  _ curiously. Almost instantly, Changbin was intrigued by what he was reading. The words on the page were written in a style that was at least several hundred years old. The story told tale of Movarth who, at the time, was a trainee in the Fighters Guild. He was consulting with a priest on various rumors surrounding vampires. One passage in particular captured Changbin’s attention, leaving him breathless with excitement:

_. . . he wanted to know about the vampires of eastern Skyrim. I told him about the most powerful tribe, the Volkihar, paranoid and cruel, whose very breath could freeze their victims’ blood in the veins. I explained to him how they lived beneath the ice of remote and haunted lakes, never venturing into the world of men except to feed . . . the Volkihar have an additional ability . . . They can reach through the ice of their lakes without breaking it. _

Changbin grinned; He finally had a clue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it through another chapter!! I will be working on the next one soon, but I also am due for another chapter on my Omegaverse story! Your hint for next chapter.......   
> A maknae takes an unwilling ride down a precarious water....slide?   
> Let's hope the "mean" person who finds him has it in his undead heart to KEEP the maknae's heart beating.   
> Please COMMENT if you are liking this...  
> ~SweetPotatoKimchi~


	5. The Bloody Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seungmin stumbles upon a dying woman and does his best to fulfill her dying request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!!!   
> Thanks, as always, for you patience with my stories!! Hopefully it continues to be worth the wait! Thanks for all the love, kudos, comments and support! They make me so happy!   
> Enjoy!!

Seungmin was  _ not  _ in a good mood. Not that that was saying much, since he very rarely  _ wasn’t  _ annoyed at someone or something. But he was  _ really  _ not feeling it today. There were few things that made him more frustrated than having to do his father’s bidding. But he supposed, being attacked by lackeys sent after him  _ while  _ he was on his father’s business might just take the cake. With a deep sigh, Seungmin assumed the true form of a vampire lord, leathery wings unfurling from his back, as he dealt with Stalf and Salonia. He’d never liked them. But now that they had the audacity to challenge him for the Bloodstone Chalice, well, he had every right to soar forward and rip out their throats - Which he did. Without delay. I mean, really. The idiots had been a member of his father’s court for a century. Did they really think they could beat him?

He blamed it on Serana. She just  _ had  _ to wake up and come home, throwing off the balance of power in the castle. Not that he was  _ upset  _ to find out his sister was still alive. In fact, that was the first time in centuries that his undead heart had felt something more than hunger and boredom. It’s just that he really wasn’t in the mood for his father to start taking an interest in the world outside of their island again. “You’re the only one I trust, Seungmin,” Harkon had told him, sternly. And even though he didn’t agree with the trust his father was placing in him, he didn’t really have anything better to do. 

So he’d set out on this stupid mission. And of course, the stupid place he had to travel to was on the other bloody side of Skyrim. When he finally reached Redwater Den he’d been pissed off, tired and really fucking hungry. He’d almost went on a feeding spree the second he arrived. But as he looked around the musty cavern, he’d realized that he’d rather die than bite into any of the grimy people inside. Of course one of the most sacred places in vampire lore was hidden beneath a skooma den. He snuck past some half ass guards and addicts, using a cloaking spell. He just wasn’t in the mood to barter or fight. So he relied on illusions and invisibility to get him to the back of the cave system, filled the dumb chalice and started to walk towards the exit, when Stalf and Salonia had found him. Of course, their heads were no longer attached to their bodies, so it really didn’t matter, now.

He transformed back into his humanoid form, wiping his bloody claws off on the wall of the cavern. He didn’t even bother cloaking himself as he pushed open the back door to the skooma den. When the skooma dealer looked at him, drawing her knife, he merely showed his fangs. She backed off immediately, and that was that. The last thing Seungmin did before he left the building was check to make sure an enchantment was in place to protect the chalice as he shoved it back into his knapsack.  

The first rays of sunlight were coming over the horizon as he stepped outside. The weaker vampires couldn’t travel in sunlight, but being a Vampire Lord, he had the ability to do so - even if it dropped his stamina slightly. He usually kept to the shadows or slept during the day, but there was no way he was going back into the den to sleep until nightfall. So he undid the tether keeping his horse tied to a tree nearby, and hopped up into the saddle. He really needed to feed, which meant travelling into a town, somewhere. So he pulled out a map which, while dated, should still provide him a decent idea of which direction to ride. He noticed a river nearby his current location, that would flow towards a lake nearby and a small town, Ivarstead. 

With a sigh, Seungmin put the map away and turned his horse northwest, heading towards the river. It took him the better part of the morning to make the journey downstream, but a little before noon he started to see signs of civilization, bridges, and marked roads. He followed the signs towards Ivarstead. As he rode into the town, he noticed an inn on his left, in addition to several farmhouses on the right. He was about to stop his horse, when a breeze blew upstream, and his nose flared at the scent of fresh blood. He glanced around the small community, surprised that the scent of fresh blood was so near, but nobody was worried. He directed his horse in the direction he could smell the blood coming from, riding quickly towards the scent. On the far side of town, on the other side of the river, Seungmin noticed a run down house, that seemed to have collapsed partially. He immediately pushed his horse through the shallow water, galloping up a small incline on the other side to check out the house. 

Seungmin leaped off of his horse and approached the house, where the scent of blood was strongest. A tall cliff-side stretched upward behind the house, a pickax and other evidence of mining covering much of its surface area. The far side of the house was caved in, a large beam fallen through the wall, leaning against the cliff-side. He stepped through a door that looked like it had been kicked in, moving cautiously into the space. The scent of the blood was strongest on the other side of the wall, and he carefully stepped past a tipped over cooking pot, rabbit stew strewn across the carpet, to step into the next room. 

The sight he saw broke his heart. A woman with long brown hair was trapped beneath the beam, blood pooling around her abdomen where the beam seemed to have impaled her. She glanced weakly up at Seungmin, eyes widening a fraction.

“Please,” She whispered, “Please help-” She broke off, coughing harshly, blood trickling out the side of her mouth. 

Seungmin crouched before her, “I don’t think I can do anything,” He said sadly. 

Seungmin was Harkon’s only son. As such, his father had tried to raise him to be cruel. And Seungmin absolutely could be. He was easy to irritate and quick to fight when threatened or where necessary. He was the first one to admit to drinking blood from fresh sources when possible. But what his father didn’t realize was that he had worked hard to learn the control necessary to drink without draining. He hadn’t drained a human since he was a newborn. He didn’t enjoy watching humans suffer or die. His mother had taught him and Serana better, before she’d disappeared.

So, as Seungmin approached this woman and told her the blunt truth, his sadness was sincere. But she surprised him.

“Not me,” She managed to breath out, “I know I am dead.”

He furrowed his brow, “Then?”

“My son,” She sobbed, “Jeongin. The thugs who did this to me are looking for him.” She reached her hand out, grabbing Seungmin’s arm. “Please, find him.” 

Seungmin put his hand over hers and squeezed lightly, “Where can I find him?” 

“I’m not sure. He left in the middle of the night, trying to escape them,” She cried frantically.

Seungmin nodded, “I will do my best,” he assured her. “What is your name?” 

“Reyda,” She whispered. “Please, tell my Innie that I love him.” 

Seungmin nodded, “I promise.” He hesitated, “There is one thing I can do for you.”

She looked at him, weakly. “What?”  
He sighed, “At this rate, you will be in pain for another hour at least, while your body gives out.” 

She nodded weakly, “It’s okay. Please just find my son.” 

Seungmin shook his head, “I will; I promise. But first, I can at least give you a painless death.” He let his fangs slowly slip from his mouth 

Her eyes held a small ounce of fear, “Vampire?”

Seungmin nodded, “Yes. Will you let me ease your pain?” 

Slowly, she nodded, “Yes.” 

Seungmin lifted her hand that was already in his, and turned it to gain access to the vein in her wrist. With a sigh, he bit down into the flesh. Reyda gasped at the feeling, before going silent. As Seungmin drank from her, images flashed in his mind.

He saw a younger version of Reyda running, hands clasped around her slightly swollen stomach - a white fur cloak over her shoulders, stained red. 

The images flashed again, showing her once more, this time cradling a newborn baby to her chest. The surroundings were dark, flickering firelight crossing over her face. 

The next image was of Reyda approaching Ivarstead, a small boy in her arms. 

Next Reyda was smiling at the boy, several years older, playing with a rugged man who appeared more child than adult. The boy was giggling, until another man came up. The other man was drunk, and approached Reyda with a menace. He lifted his left arm and backhanded her, a glint of gold flickering on his finger. As she hit the floor, she lifted her left hand, where a matching gold band rested on her hand. The man approached her son, and Reyda threw her body forward, holding onto his ankle, pleading. He kicked her off and grabbed hold of her son’s hair, pushing him to the ground. The first man stood and pushed the drunken one back, where he fell into the fireplace, head cracking on the stone. 

It was several years later and Reyda watched her son lift a pickax. He pushed it against the rock, hard, muscles flexing in his arms. 

The last image he saw was of the same boy, even older than the previous image, pleading with his mother, tears running down his face, as he put a bag over his shoulder. Reyda held onto him tightly, but he shook his head and pressed his lips to her hair, before turning his back and leaving the house. 

Seungmin gasped, coming back to himself as he milked the last few drops from Reyda’s veins. A smile was on her face as he pulled back. He’d experienced the link before while feeding but never had it been so potent. He had felt every ounce of desperation, fear and love this woman had experienced. He reached down and closed her eyes, before shakily getting to his feet. He had already promised to save this woman’s son, Jeongin, he thought she’d called him, but after feeling how much she loved her son, he was absolutely determined to find him. 

Seungmin stepped from the building and got back on his horse before he closed his eyes, focusing on the blood in his system, as well as the scents that permeated the area. He channeled his magica and cast a spell of clairvoyance. When he opened his eyes, he could see a glowing thread in front of him. He immediately set off, following it. It lead him down the river bank towards a stone bridge. He crossed immediately, ignoring the start to the Seven Thousand Steps, almost running down the useless villagers loitering around. As they yelled at him, he snapped back, “Are you assholes even aware that a building in your godforsaken town collapsed and a woman is dead?” Their eyes widened, but he pushed further down the path. He didn’t have time to stop and discuss deliveries or whatever shit was more important to the imbeciles than helping out their neighbors. 

The path led him straight down the road, right through a troll’s lair, which of course he just ignored. It isn’t that he couldn’t fight the troll, or the sabertooth that tried chasing him. He could crush them in a fight. It was just that he felt a sense of urgency to find Reyda’s son. So he forced his horse down the path, even when the path was the steepest decline he’d ever seen. His clairvoyance spell was wearing off, meaning that he was close. He glanced around his surroundings as he trotted down the hill. Off to his right was a high current lake, where several tall waterfalls were flowing down from above. The water they landed in then split off into another three or four waterfalls. His breath caught in his throat as he wondered why he had been led here. 

He scanned the water, eyes catching on every fallen tree or boulder that littered the area until he finally saw what he’d hoped he wouldn’t. He left his horse standing next to a sealed tomb door and transformed into his vampire lord form, needing his wings. He immediately took flight over the water. Of course, Jeongin was draped over a fallen tree under the farthest waterfall. He flew over until he was hovering just above the boy. Being careful of his claws, he grabbed hold of the boy and flapped upwards a few feet, to lay the boy down flat on top of a large boulder that was next to them. As he landed, he transformed back into his humanoid form to assess the boy’s injuries. Seungmin felt a surge of relief. The boy was breathing shallowly, but he wasn’t dead. He noticed the boy’s bones were broken in a few places, and he was worried that he had some internal bleeding. Seungmin pushed down on the boy’s chest a few times to make sure there was no water in his lungs, then he sat back considering what to do. 

He knew a few rudimentary healing spells, but nothing intense enough to take care of Jeongin’s worst injuries. However, he did have the blood stone chalice. He didn’t know exactly what it was used for, but one thing he knew is that it contained the blood of the ancients. So, throwing caution to the wind, Seungmin dug it from his bag and slowly brought it to Jeongin’s lips, forcing a few sips into the boy’s mouth. He was relieved to see Jeongin drink it down. Almost instantly, Jeongin’s color turned healthier, and his breathing got easier. He secured the chalice once more and then transformed again, flying Jeongin over to his horse. He had trained his horse to not respond negatively to this form, so it stayed calm as he place the young boy in his saddle. As soon as Jeongin was hunched forward over the horse’s neck, Seungmin transformed back and climbed into the saddle himself. 

Seungmin led his horse back up the steep path until he reached a crossroads with a sign for Whiterun. He took the path, knowing from his current location the best way to reach Dawnstar would be to cut west towards Whiterun and then move north. He assessed the location of the sun, realizing there were still several hours left in the day. He figured his horse could make it a little farther before he’d need to rest. So he pushed down the road. Jeongin didn’t stir once as they rode through the canyon. He eventually decided to stop about halfway through the canyon, as the light was fading. He pulled Jeongin down from his horse and made a small campfire. He then pulled a sleeping roll off the back of his horse and wrapped Jeongin inside, before curling around him and closing his eyes. 

 

It was still dark when he woke up, several hours later; He packed everything back up and, after re-positioning Jeongin, finished the journey through the canyon. As he exited the pass, he assessed his location. He was north east of Whiterun, his current path leading south west. He needed to head due north, so exited the path, cutting across the river where it was most shallow. As he headed down the main road, he stiffened noticing a group of Vigilants camping off to the side of the road.  _ Shit.  _ The last thing he needed was for a ton of self-righteous vampire hunting fanatics to notice him and attack him. He couldn’t fight if Jeongin was on his horse, and he couldn’t cloak himself either. So, he just gambled on getting past them, urging his horse one as he pushed down the road at a straight gallop. He didn’t glance back as he heard shuffling and shouts behind him; he simply pushed down the path, riding harder than he had all night. He kept up the hard pace for the next hour, only slowing down slightly when the sun started to come up. 

Shortly after the sun came up, he noticed a crossroads with a sign for Dawnstar. He breathed out in relief, only to stiffen when he looked down the opposite path, noticing a soldier in blue uniform riding their way. He panicked slightly, trying to decide what to do when the Soldier pulled his horse to a stop, looking south. The soldier pulled on the reigns, turning from the main road and carving his own path. Seungmin breathed out in relief, not stopping to consider where the soldier was headed, as he pushed down the road once more.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hopefully you enjoyed!!   
> Seungmin is really just a cinnamon roll, right?   
> I.N's perspective will come in later.   
> Hmm....your hint for next time... The soldier at the end of this chapter was none other than our lovely Squirrel. I wonder where he is headed? And what his story is? Let's just say he's going to do some questionable things....all to save the person most important to him. 
> 
> Love ya!!   
> ~SweetPotatoKimchi~


	6. As Fate Would Have It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jisung felt a blush rise to his cheek, entranced by the sound of the other’s soft voice. He shook his head, clearing his throat. “Who are you; why are you in my room, and,” He hesitated before spilling his final question, “Why am I naked?” 
> 
> “Are you seriously asking the whore you woke up next to why you are naked?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that it took me so long to post a new chapter here!!  
> If you clicked on here thinking it was Expectation's Dance I'm SORRY! But PLEASE stay!!! This story is one of my favorite projects. It's long, intricate and so VERY fun. I've always wanted to create a story for the RPG games I play, and Skyrim + Stray Kids is like... the perfect basis from which to spring forward into that dream of mine. 
> 
> That being said. I should warn you all...  
> This chapter is not an easy read. It deals with some heavy topics. There are rape/non con elements, as far as the past goes. There is also a pretty dang violent erm... torture? maiming? moment near the end... I felt it was justified, but just like... WARNING that if it gets to be too much I'll understand. This chapter is pretty serious, but I think this will be the only chapter that REALLY gets so deep into THIS level of erm..bloddy? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!! :D And please forgive any large mistakes. I have been super busy, but REALLY wanted to post SOMETHING tonight! :) 
> 
> OH AND THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO LittleFreakcess who is like... My Twin and the recent bearer of my Sanity - Thank you... you've helped me WAY more than you will EVER know or understand. :)

Jisung Free-Winter turned his horse down the path to Korvanjund, shoving the stupid map he’d been given by stupid bloody Ulfric back in his coat. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this stupid quest for that pompous, asshole, but, there he was. Jisung had been ten years old when he was ‘recruited’ by the stormcloaks. He could remember the day with a sickening clarity. 

“Jisung, Minho, don’t wander too far, alright?” Jisung’s mother called, as the two boys giggled, running into the nearby trees to play. Jisung’s small legs scrambled after Minho. The latter boy was a few years older than Jisung, sure, but what made his legs so much taller than Jisung’s was his race. Minho was an elf, half Dunmer, half Altmer. And he was also Jisung’s best friend. They lived in a small village in the mountains east of the Dunmeth Pass, made up mostly of Dunmer refugees from Morrowind. There were a few other Nord families, like Jisung’s, all of whom lived in the community to help provide for the refugees, but Jisung was the only Nord child. Jisung vaguely recalled a time when his family had lived in the heart of Windhelm, his father one of Jarl Hoag’s most trusted counselors. But, his family had been run out of Windhelm after Ulfric became Jarl; all because, Jisung’s father did not stand by Ulfric’s racist policies against the Dunmer and Argonians. When Jisung’s family had fled the city, his father had gathered like minded Nords to take with them, determined to do all they could to aid refugees in their search for shelter. 

When Jisung was eight years old, despite Jisung’s young age, his father had sat him down to explain to him why he had done the things he did. “I might not always be around, Ji, and I need to know that you will be alright if something happens to me.” He told Jisung of a long ago time, when Talos worship was widespread and accepted in Skyrim, pointing to the amulet around his son’s neck. He explained that belief was powerful, and as virtuous as a belief may be at its core, often believers are guilty of using it to control others, to fight wars, and to take advantage of tradition. He told Jisung that part of why they were hiding was due to Talos worship being forbidden in Skyrim, that worship in the empire was being manipulated by the Thalmor in harmful ways. He said he had once ridden to war to fight for his beliefs, following the previous Jarl of Windhelm. Jarl Hoag had been a man of honor, fighting to uphold tradition, but his son, Ulfric, was now using religion as a mask to gain power over his people, over other races, and Jisung’s father feared, perhaps eventually over Skyrim itself. 

“There is a hunger for power in Ulfric’s eyes,” His father told him, “That I do not trust, Jisung.” His father ruffled Jisung’s hair. “He is too quick to oppress those he deems weaker and subordinate to him.” Jisung’s father frowned, “If I had the resources, I would not be hiding here; I would be stopping him where I am able.”

It was shortly after that conversation that Jisung’s father led a mission to aid a group of Dunmer. The Dunmer were freed and came to live in the community.

 Jisung’s father, however, did not return. 

His mother had been pregnant at the time, but when she heard of her Husband’s passing, she had had a miscarriage. For the past year, Jisung had done his best to keep his mother healthy, and she had gradually come out of her shell, once more. But her eyes never completely lost the shimmer of sadness. 

Being the only Nord child in a community of Dunmer children never bothered Jisung. Especially not when it came to adventures with Minho. The older boy had been among the first Dunmer his father had saved. As such, they had spent half of their lives together, giggling and catching rabbits, and playing pranks. They sometimes played with the other children, but rarely.

His mother had often warned them not to wander too far from their little hidden camp. But on that terrible day, Jisung didn’t listen. And he would never forgive himself. He and MInho were playing hide and go seek. Minho was counting. And Jisung, sick of his nickname Squirrel was desperate to find a new hiding place that didn’t include one of his favorite trees. So he’d run a little farther than he meant, and stumbled onto one of the main forest paths, just as a Stormcloak patrol was passing by. His eyes had widened with fear as a horse almost ran him over. And when he fell to the ground, the horse narrowly missing him, his fear remained, as he took in the symbol of the bear on their blue cloaks. 

One of the soldiers immediately rode forward, grabbing onto the hood of Jisung’s fur cloak and yanked him up. “What’s a brat like you doing so far from home?” He asked, Jisung dangling in the air. 

“Kynesgrove is at least half a day’s ride from here, if not more. There are no other villages close, are there?” Another soldier asked.

Jisung bit his lip, realizing the dangerous situation he was in. He had to keep his village a secret. “I-I got lost,” Jisung whispered, scrambling for some kind of explanation, “My p-parents are miners.” 

The soldiers looked at one another, seeming to buy his story. Jisung was starting to feel relieved, but then a voice spoke that sent him into a panic.

“Put him down!” Minho cried, and Jisung twisted his face enough to see his best friend standing by the road, each hand holding a different spell: left was flame, right was lightning.

“It’s a Dunmer brat!” One of the soldiers cried, drawing his sword.

“Stop!” Jisung cried out to his friend, “They’ll hurt you!” 

MInho glared at him, “Shut up, Jisung!” 

The soldier holding Jisung gasped, “I think these kids are from the hidden Dunmer settlement!” 

Jisung saw MInho’s eyes go wide, realization dawning on him. 

“Can you imagine Ulfric’s reward if we found it?”  

“Warn them!” Jisung cried, pleading with Minho.

“I’m not leaving you!” Minho cried back.

“NOW!” Minho hesitated for one more second before he nodded, running back into the trees.

Jisung struggled in the man’s grasp, but he wouldn’t let go. The soldier holding him cried out orders, “You three, catch the Dunmer,” He pointed to another, “You, activate a tracking spell,” He threw Jisung over his saddle, “And you, shut up. You’re coming with me.” 

The soldiers dispersed, and the one who had Jisung rode hard and fast down the road. Jisung tried not to be afraid, but he was terrified. He had no way of knowing if MInho was alright, and as the hours dragged on, he worried more and more for his mother and the rest of the people from the settlement’s lives. The man taunted him as they rode, but Jisung stayed silent. It was when they rode through Kynesgrove that evening that Jisung knew for sure where he was being taken. The soldier rode on, well past nightfall. Jisung had long since soiled himself, unable to hold it amidst his terror and the bumpy ride that offered him no rest. 

Finally, although the location offered little comfort, the soldier rode up to the gates of Windhelm; he didn’t even bother to stop at the stables. He bellowed for the guards to open the gate. Jisung cautiously looked around the city, trying to see if anything looked familiar. But it was too dark to tell. The soldier rode his horse right up to the doors of the Palace of the Kings, jumping off and grabbing hold of Jisung, roughly. A few startled soldiers opened the doors, bowing slightly as the soldier dragged Jisung inside. 

Jisung roughly recalled the interior from his youngest days visiting his father, but that was a long time ago. The great hall was decorated by a large table, running right down the length of the room. At the far end sat the Jarl’s throne. “Summon the Jarl,” The soldier demanded of a wiry looking man who sat at the table eating. The man jumped up,

“Lord Galmar! We weren’t expecting you back so soon.” 

“I don’t have time for your pleasantries Jorleif. The Jarl, now.” 

The wiry man, Jorleif, ran from the room. Galmar, as Jisung now knew the soldier was called, dragged him over to the table, holding onto his hood, while he poured himself a glass of wine and ate some bread. Jisung looked at the food hungrily, but he didn’t dare say anything. 

After a few minutes, a large man walked into the room, moving to sit on the throne. “Galmar! What brings you back?” 

Galmar responded by moving to the base of the throne and throwing Jisung at his feet. “My patrol stumbled upon this boy, as well as a Dunmer in the middle of nowhere.” 

“Look at me, boy,” The man snapped. Jisung looked up, terrified. The man’s eyes were boiling as they stared at Jisung’s face. The man gasped, “I know this boy!” He turned to Galmar, “This is the son of Han Free-Winter!” 

Galmar nodded, “I suspected as much. I have come seeking reinforcements. My squad is tracking the settlement as we speak, hopefully laying siege to whatever pitiful defenses they have in place. What would you have me do, Ulfric?” 

Jisung had suspected the man was Ulfric, but hearing the name made his blood freeze. “You killed my father,” Jisung spoke evenly. 

Ulfric turned to him, “I had your father executed for treason.” 

Jisung shook his head, “The only treason is yours.” 

Galmar stepped forward and smacked JIsung, “Show some respect, boy.”

Ulfric raised his hand, “Don’t. I like his spirit. Most boys wouldn’t dare speak that way, not to me.” He stepped down from the throne, moving to lift Jisung’s face up, “You are going to make a fine soldier, after we beat obedience into you.” Ulfric called out, “Jorleif, come.” 

The pathetic man ran back into the room, “Yes, my Lord?” 

“Prepare my horse, as well as the 2nd company. We ride immediately. And have someone take this boy to a cell.” Ulfric commanded, turning back to Galmar, “Are you good for another ride?” 

Galmar bowed, “As my lord commands.” 

Jisung missed the rest of their conversation, as a soldier approached him, dragging him to the dungeon. He was offered no food, however he was stripped of his clothing, and roughly scrubbed down, before he was placed into a scratchy tunic. The cell he was placed in was freezing, and he spent the night shivering, tears seeming to freeze on his cheeks as soon as they spilled from his eyes. 

Jisung spent the next two frozen days alone, save for the kitchen maid who, once a day, brought him a mug of water and stale bread. He was grateful for the food, but he kept asking the girl for information. She would stare at him, terrified each time, before scurrying away. On what Jisung thought was the third day, a soldier came to his cell, opening his gate and binding his hands. 

“You’ve been summoned, boy,” He snapped, pushing JIsung forward. 

Jisung was led into the great hall and his eyes immediately traced over the people in the room. Ulfric was back on his throne, Galmar standing at his right side. In front of them was a crowd that sent a shiver down Jisung’s spine. Several nobles stood, dressed formally, and standing in the middle of them was his mother.

“Mom!” He cried out, trying to run forward.

His mother turned, “Jisung!” She sobbed, terror on her face. 

Ulfric, leaning lazily in his seat, gestured for the soldiers to bring over Jisung, “Ah, good of you to join us.”

Galmar grabbed hold of Jisung and pushed him down to bow in front of Ulfric. Jisung resisted, but his mother demanded, “Don’t fight them, Ji.” Jisung bit his lip but let his neck be bent. 

“I offer you a choice, Freda Free-Winter,” Ulfric’s voice said loudly. “Either you swear allegiance or your son pays the price.” 

Jisung’s eyes widened, not because of the threat but because of the immediate way that his mother fell to her knees, “I swear by the nine, I will do as you say. Just please, do not harm my son.” 

“Very well,” Ulfric stated, “What is the date, time and location of your next rendezvous with illegal Dunmer?” 

“Mom, don’t tell him,” Jisung whispered, “Please.” 

She looked at Jisung, sadly, “I’m sorry, Ji.” She turned to look at Ulfric, “The second Turdas of Frostfall. A ship, Winter War, is sailing for Refugees Rest, a tower at the mouth of the river. From there, those docking are set to travel into the mountains for our settlement.”

“And you swear to this information?” Ulfric demanded, firmly.

“On my son’s life.” 

Ulfric nodded, “Very well,” He turned to Galmar. “Summon the executioner.” 

“NO!” Jisung screamed, trying to scramble towards her. “She swore allegiance!” He cried.

“Yes,” Ulfric said, “For your life, not her own.” 

Galmar reached over to silence Jisung, who bit into his hand, hard. Galmar hissed loudly, the backside of his armored hand lashing out to crash against Jisung’s cheek. Blood marred Jisung’s vision as he fell to the ground, biting back a sob.

“Galmar,” Ulfric muttered a warning. Jisung looked up to see Galmar’s fist tighten, blood dripping down the metallic tips of the bear claws that decorated his gauntlets. 

“If you are so eager to die as well, that can be arranged,” Ulfric said blandly in Jisung’s direction.

At that, a man stepped forward from the crowd, “My Lord Jarl, if I may?” He spoke softly. 

Ulfric looked at him, “What is it Brunwulf?” 

“Forgive me my Lord, but I think it unwise to punish the son for the parents’ crimes, no matter how severe. I know he resists now, but that is merely a product of brainwashing and an ill upbringing.” 

Ulfric looked at him, “And what do you propose, Lord Free-Winter?” 

Jisung’s eyes snapped towards the man.  _ Free-Winter?  _ The man, Brunwulf, spoke once more. “Allow me to take the boy in. He is my nephew after all. I can re-educate him, raise him to be a loyal soldier.” 

“And if the feral boy resists?” Galmar spat, shaking his gauntlet to clear it of blood.

“Then we deal with him, then.” 

Ulfric appraised Jisung’s uncle. “Very well, you have one year to prove the boy’s worth.” 

“Mom,” Jisung whispered, painfully.

“Please,” His mother sighed. Jisung watched her turn towards Ulfric, “Please let me hold him, one last time.” He gave a curt nod.

As soon as she was released, she moved quickly to Jisung’s side, pulling him into her arms.

“Listen, Jisung,” She whispered softly, “You can trust your uncle. I promise.” 

“Don’t leave me,” Jisung sobbed, “I can’t lose you, too.” His small body shook within her embrace. 

She pulled back, before placing a soft kiss on his torn cheek, “You are stronger than you know, love. They will change the way you look, scar you in more ways than one, but they cannot change who you are. Do not lose your father’s heart.” 

“I promise,” he sobbed. 

“I love you, Jiji. Remember that, always.” 

“Mom,” He sobbed out, “ _ Mom _ .” The last cry ripped from his throat, as Galmar grabbed hold of his mother’s shoulders and yanked her back.

Brunwulf reached Jisung’s side, before he could move after her. “Come, Jisung.” His voice was firm, brokering no arguments.

Even still, Jisung tried to pull back.

Brunwulf grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet. “You don’t want to see this, Jisung.” His voice was soft, spoken too quietly for others to hear.

“But-”

“Come with me.” Brunwulf gave him a soft smile. But that wasn’t what made Jisung stand straighter and follow where he led. It was the sheen of emotion threatening to spill from the other’s eyes. Yet, even as they moved from the room, Jisung couldn’t help but look behind him, where his mother was kneeling on the ground, head tilted upwards, refusing to submit.

_ Do not lose your father’s heart,  _ his mother’s words rang in his ears. As he watched her stare unblinking at the men who moved in closer, wicked smiles on their faces, Jisung vowed never to lose  _ her  _ heart, either. Tears were pouring from his eyes at an alarming rate, as Brunwulf pulled him from the great hall. To the day he died, Jisung would regret those tears; they robbed him of his final chance to memorize his mother’s face.  

Brunwulf led Jisung away from the Palace of the Kings, taking a large stone corridor to the left. The path took them out of sight from others. Brunwulf paused, checking they were alone before he dropped to his knees and pulled Jisung into a fierce hug. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her.” 

Jisung cried into his uncle’s shoulder, until Brunwulf composed himself and picked Jisung up, carrying him the rest of the way to his house. It wasn’t too far from the palace, a straight shot, really, once they made it from the stone corridor. They moved beneath an archway whereupon sat a house, and stopped just before the stairs that would turn towards the gray quarter, once called the snow quarter, in times of peace and equality. 

Brunwulf’s house was on the right side of the street, the door almost hard to miss if you didn’t know exactly where to look. Brunwulf had to set Jisung down to find his key and open up the door. When it was open, Brunwulf gestured for Jisung to enter, bustling inside after to light the fire pit. Jisung was surprised to see how rundown Brunwulf’s house was. Wooden planks were broken along the floor and up above where the second floor landings were. A single, large ladder stretched up left, towards what looked to be a partial attic, used for storage. Towards the right, Brunwulf had several weapons displayed on tables and shelves, behind which, a small room could be seen with a single bed. Everything was open, but everything seemed stripped down to the necessities of life, no excessive comforts or supplies. The one thing Brunwulf seemed to have in excess was firewood, but then, Windhelm got really cold, and winter was fast approaching. 

“Take a seat,” Brunwulf ordered, briskly. 

Jisung obeyed, taking a seat in front of the stone pit, where warmth was finally seeping into his bones. 

“We need to get you cleaned up. The last thing we need is for those gashes to get infected.” 

Jisung had already forgotten about the blood dripping down his face, too focused was he on the pain of knowing he’d never see his mother again. 

His uncle set a pot of water to boil over the pit, moving to his room to gather a few cloths. When he made it back to Jisung’s side, he dipped one of the cloths in the boiling water, and then wrung it out, leaving it warm and damp. He proceeded to clean up Jisung’s wounds as best he could. 

“Dammit,” He hissed, once he’d managed to clean the wound. “This is going to leave a nasty scar. Damn Galmar Stone-Fist and his temper.” He stepped back from Jisung, handing him one of the few cloths he hadn’t soaked. “Hold this against your cheek. I’ll be back shortly.” 

And then he pushed from the house. Jisung stared around the room blankly, until Brunwulf returned, a younger gentleman in tow. 

“Jisung,” He stated, coming back to his side. “This is Calixto. He runs a shop just across the street.” 

Calixto moved to crouch in front of Jisung, a jar of something held in his hand, and several linen wraps beneath his elbow. “That’s a lot of blood, young man,” He said, curiously. Jisung didn’t like the way the older man stared at his face; there was something off about it. But, Calixto started unscrewing the lid off the jar. “This is a special healing ointment I picked up recently, when I was traveling through Winterhold. It should help with the pain, and with lessening the severity of any scarring.” 

Jisung nodded, letting the older man press the ointment into his skin. His uncle left the two of them to it, moving up the ladder to the left. Jisung couldn’t see him, but he heard him shifting things and rummaging around. 

Calixto finished applying the mixture to Jisung’s face. Once the Jar was closed once more and pushed off to the side, he began unwrapping some of the linen, laying it over Jisung’s face in careful layers, around his head. 

“Thank you,” Jisung mumbled when he was done, as Calixto stepped back. 

Calixto appraised him carefully, scrutinizing Jisung’s dirty form and the roughspun tunic over his body. “I’ll be back in a moment, Brunwulf.”

“Alright, thank you, Calixto.” 

Calixto nodded, grabbing his things. 

“Uncle,” Jisung called up to the landing.

“I’ll be down in just a moment, Jisung. Hold on, alright?” 

“Okay.” He fidgeted with his hands, sick of sitting still. Calixto let himself back in, when he got to Brunwulf’s house. He had some clothes tucked beneath his elbow, he was also carrying a pitcher and a metal basin.

“Alright,” He said with a smile, one which still made Jisung uncomfortable. “Let’s see if we can’t get you cleaned up, shall we?” He set the clothes on a nearby table and poured the rest of the hot water from the pot into the basin. He replaced the pot with water from inside the pitcher he’d carried in. “Come here,” He directed Jisung, once he had everything situated. 

Jisung moved over, reluctantly. Calixto removed his tunic. Jisung hated how bare he felt in front of the older man. The man glanced over his body, before he had Jisung stand next to him. Jisung shivered slightly when the first warm cloth slid along his body. He wasn’t used to being bathed like this, let alone by someone else. It was uncomfortable and intrusive. But he bore it as best he could. When Calixto was finished, he stepped back and nodded to himself. “Perfect.” He held out the clothes he’d brought with him, “Here you are. Let’s see how they look.” 

Jisung awkwardly slipped into the green tunic and brown pants the man had brought him. He also stepped into a warm pair of boots. “I’ll have to bring you a cloak, before winter arrives,” Calixto smiled. “Don’t want those cute fingers to fall off, do we?” 

Jisung was saved from answering by his uncle descending the ladder. “You didn’t have to do that, Calixto. Thank you. How much do I owe you for everything?” 

Calixto laughed, “Not everything I do is for monetary gain.” 

Brunwulf grinned, “Well what kind of profit were you looking for, then?” 

Calixto grinned back, “Buy me a drink sometime, and we’ll call it even.” 

“Deal,” Brunwulf nodded. “Thank you, again. I need to get this one in bed, but stop by anytime.” 

“Very well, Talos bless.” 

“Talos bless,” Brunwulf said in farewell. He shut the door behind the man, locking it immediately. He moved back towards the fire. “I don’t have much to eat at the moment. I’ve been gone on a bandit raid to the west,” He explained. “But I do have some bread and cheese.” He rummaged in a cupboard, procuring the food. “Let’s get you fed quickly, so you can rest.” Jisung ate while his uncle spoke. “I apologize for the conditions of the house. When your parents took you from Windhelm as a boy, the Free-Winter estates were seized. I was leading Ulfric’s forces on a raid of a fortress down south at the time. When I came back, I was put in prison for almost a year, while Ulfric tested my loyalties. When I was finally released, my title remained, but my property and wealth were long since absorbed into Ulfric’s personal storage. I’ve been working hard the last four years to gain back my standing here.”

Jisung nodded in understanding, “Why did mother say I can trust you, if your loyalty is to Ulfric?” 

“Did I say my loyalty is to Ulfric?” 

Jisung frowned, “I guess not?”

“My loyalty is to Skyrim and her people, specifically the people here, regardless of race, that need protecting. I do what I can to placate the greed of Ulfric and his elite followers, only so that I might use whatever influence I gain for the betterment of those living here.” He hesitated, “I almost abandoned it though, when I learned of your father’s execution. I have many contacts in the Gray Quarter, which I have exploited to aid your mother and the settlement in whatever ways I can.” 

“So you’ve been a spy?” 

“You could say that, I suppose.” Brunwulf smiled, “I don’t have to tell you to keep quiet about that though, do I?”

Jisung grinned, “No. I’m a good secret keeper.” He hesitated, “Do you know what happened to the rest of the Dunmer?” 

Brunwulf’s smile fell, “Those that were found were slaughtered.” 

Jisung felt his heart sink, “All of them?” 

“All but a few of the women and children.” 

“Where were they taken?” He asked, nervously. 

“I don’t know, exactly. My best guess is that the children will be sold to labor camps, and the women to prostitution.” 

“So there’s a chance that my friends are alive?” 

Brunwulf sighed, “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Jisung.” He coughed awkwardly, “Now, let’s get you to bed, alright?” 

Jisung nodded, following his uncle up the ladder, where a bedroll had been laid out for him. 

“I apologize that I don’t have another bed. But this will have to do, for now.” He pulled back the top layer, helping Jisung crawl inside, after his boots were removed.

When Jisung was tucked in, his uncle paused, “I’m sorry, Jisung. If I could take you from this place, I would. Windhelm is not the place it once was. Every step taken inside this city must be plotted carefully. And as a Free-Winter, you will always be mistrusted here.” 

Jisung nodded, “I understand.” He paused, “Uncle?” 

“Yes, Jisung?” 

“Do you think she’s already dead?” 

Brunwulf’s eyes filled with pain. “I don’t know, Jisung. But, for her sake, I hope so.” 

“How can you say that?” Jisung demanded, eyes alight with fury. 

“I do not want your mother to die,” Brunwulf clarified, kneeling in front of Jisung. “But I would rather her die quickly, before they can do far worse to her.” 

Jisung was fifteen years old before he understood his uncle’s words. Prior to her execution the following morning, his mother was tortured for more information, and even worse, over half the city guards, including Galmar and Ulfric themselves, had their way with her. It was Galmar who told him, of course, after Jisung had bested Galmar in an annual sparring competition. Galmar had been the undisputed champion for almost ten years. When he’d lost he’d spit the venomous truth at Jisung, ensuring his victory was a bitter one. 

Jisung was the best warrior in the entire city, and he owed it entirely to his uncle’s careful teaching. The first few weeks after he’d moved in with his uncle had been spent in recovery, but eventually word got out that he wasn’t training. Ulfric threatened to put Jisung in Galmar’s care, after which Brunwulf began the rigorous process of turning Jisung into an unstoppable warrior. And, as Brunwulf was hailed as one of the heroes of the Great War, Jisung couldn’t have had a better teacher. 

His uncle tried to teach him the art of two-handed combat, as that was his area of expertise. However, Jisung's agility was higher than his, and after careful consideration, he decided to teach Jisung how to dual wield smaller weapons. He dabbled in swords and maces, until he finally found his calling in War Axes. 

Despite quickly becoming one of the best soldiers in Ulfric’s army, he was kept close, not trusted on any missions that could potentially jeopardize the ‘cause’. For eight years, Jisung was only sent on routine missions and full company raids. Which was fine by Jisung. Without having other duties, he was free to take on cases from local people in need. He helped find lost items, took out a few bandits, he even went on a quest to find some ancient prophesied vile, for the local potions brewer when his health took a nasty turn. But he was going stir crazy, and every day spent in Windhelm was a reminder that he was more of a hostage than anything else. 

He still paid close attention to every bit of Intel he gleaned from other soldiers and the officers of the stormcloaks, hoping that one day he’d be able to use the information for good. 

Three days ago, he’d been summoned to the Palace of the Kings to get his next marching orders. While he was there, he’d overhead Ulfric and Galmar arguing about a mission Galmar needed Ulfric to sign off on. Galmar had discovered Intel on the fabled Jagged Crown, and wanted to send a small party in to reclaim it so that they could then use it to justify more stormcloak tyranny and power grabs. It sickened Jisung to hear of how their influence had grown across Skyrim. Ulfric agreed that the quest was worth it, however he doubted the capacity of any of their soldiers to survive the level of combat they would find in an ancient crypt. 

“What about Jisung Free-Winter,” One of the other men in the room asked. All eyes shifted towards him, where was seated near his uncle around the table of the great hall. “Isn’t he more than capable of leading the charge?” 

Jisung went still in his seat. “That milk drinker?” Galmar snorted. “I’d sooner trust a Thalmor agent than him.” 

“Galmar, the boy has a point,” he stated grimly. “What do you say, Free-Winter?” 

Jisung’s uncle stood, “I have trained Jisung to be capable of any and all types of combat. I’m confident that were he to be on the mission he would prove to be a great asset.” 

“Very well,” Ulfric said, “I will consider it. Jisung, check in tomorrow. For now, you are dismissed.” 

Jisung stood and inclined his head, before exiting the great hall and palace. 

_ Fuck, I need a drink, _ he groaned, making his way over to Candlehearth Hall, heading down the stairs quickly, once inside.

“Good evening, Jisung,” Elda Early-Dawn smiled from behind the bar. “You are here a lot earlier than usual.” She blushed lightly, “Will your uncle be joining you this evening?” 

“You two are terrible at hiding your relationship, Elda. I don’t know why you bother to act like I am not aware what you two get up to.” He rolled his eyes, “But no. I do not think he will be in tonight.” 

“Shame,” she hummed. “What can I get  _ you  _ then?” 

“The strongest Ales and Mead you can offer me.” 

“Rough day?” She asked, curiously, setting about looking for what he ordered. 

“A bit,” He responded, awkwardly. “I am just so tired, lately.” 

She laughed, “Jisung, we both know your problem is that you need a good bedding.” 

He blushed, drinking the first of several mugs she handed him. “Maybe you are right, but I do not know of anyone else who shares my same,” He paused, awkwardly, “Preferences.” 

She blinked, “Oh. I didn’t realize, you mean,” 

He blushed, nodding. “Yup,” He popped the p. 

“Well,” She hummed, “You might be in luck. Susanna just got a new shipment of workers. I think one of them was a young man. Should I arrange for you to have a room, this evening?” 

Jisung blinked, not totally sure what she was talking about. In the end he shrugged, “Sure. I could use a room, I guess. I am planning on drinking away my frustrations. My uncle does not appreciate when I come home inebriated.” 

She laughed, “And he appreciates me even less for providing you with the alcohol.”

He smiled, “Well, I am not one to get between you and your relationship.” 

He drank another three mugs in the time it took for Susanna to prepare his room. Elda grinned, handing him a few more bottles. “Here,” She smiled, “To make life easier.” 

He furrowed his brow, but took the bottles, before heading where Susanna led him. “Have fun,” She winked as she led him into the room. 

He frowned, not sure what she meant. “Uh, okay. Thank you, I guess.” 

With a laugh, she left the room, closing the door behind him. 

Feet dragging across the floor as he moved, Jisung approached the bed dizzily, and stripped out of his clothing, all of it. He was feeling very overheated. He placed the bottles next to the bed and climbed beneath the blankets. When he was nestled within, he grabbed one of the bottles and drank it steadily, exhaustion beginning to take its toll on him. He tried to keep his eyes open a little longer, but eventually gave in to the drowsiness and fell asleep. 

While he slept, he had the strangest dream. He dreamed of a dark skinned elf, and a boyish laugh, chasing him through the forest of his childhood. 

Morning came all too soon, and he awakened with a pounding head and a very dry throat. He blinked rapidly, attempting to take in his surroundings. Fuzzily memories of staying in the inn came back to him. He groaned and turned towards the bedside table, freezing when he noticed he wasn’t alone.

Leaning against his temporary bed, another man was asleep, back rising steadily with his breathing. Jisung immediately started panicking as he took in the scandalous outfit the man was wearing, noticing at the same time that he himself was completely naked beneath his blanket. Panicking, he yanked the blanket up to his neck, as he pulled back - the motion causing the man on his knees to slide from the edge with a groan.

“Divines curse,” The man mumbled, huskily. 

Jisung felt a blush rise to his cheek, entranced by the sound of the other’s soft voice. He shook his head, clearing his throat. “Who are you; why are you in my room, and,” He hesitated before spilling his final question, “Why am I naked?” 

“Are you seriously asking the whore you woke up next to why you are naked?” 

Jisung blanched, “I- you- did we,  _ fuck _ .” He said the last word as a curse, not a question. 

Nevertheless the man- whore was way to harsh, muttered, “You tell me.” And then, finally, his face moved into view. 

The first think Jisung noticed was a shimmering purple mark on the man’s - the elf’s - forehead: a slave brand. Every slave was given one, by whatever twisted mage was working the trade. The purple mark, the color a reflection of the slave’s soul, was twisted into Ulfric’s personal brand - a gaudy hand print - four fingers stretching up, a separate section cut aside with the thumb twisting out in a sharp angle. Ulfric didn’t personally have his mark branded onto many slaves; he was rather selective about who he deemed worthy of his ownership. But when he claimed a slave, he always made sure nobody could question that they were his.

Below the purple lines were a set of equally stunning violet eyes, ones which Jisung would recognize anywhere - even almost a decade after he’d last seen them. A sob slipped from his throat, and nakedness forgotten, he leaped forward, wrapping his arms around the friend he’d long since believed dead. “Minnie,” He cried, fat, ugly tears pouring from his eyes. 

“Hey, Jiji,” The soft voiced hummed, holding him firmly against his body, hand running through Jisung’s hair as he cried. 

“I thought- they told me you were  _ dead _ !” Jisung cried. “I thought I’d never see you again!” 

Minho trembled against him with his own tears, “It was my fault, Jisung. My fault.” 

Shaking his head, Jisung pulled back. “No it wasn’t, Min. I was the one who ran too far.” 

“And I’m the one who didn’t trust you to take care of yourself. I didn’t think of anyone else. I got-” He sobbed, “I got everyone else killed.” 

Jisung lifted his hands to Minho’s face, “No. We were kids, Minho. No matter what mistakes we made, there were other people who made choices that day. The only person to blame for the slaughter of  _ our  _ people, is Ulfric.” 

Minho cringed, looking towards the door. “You shouldn’t talk like that.” 

Jisung snorted, “I’ve said it to Ulfric’s face before. It’s nothing new.” 

Minho raised his brow, “Should I be surprised?” 

Jisung grinned, “No. You always knew I was an idiot.” 

Minho laughed, “Yeah.” He looked over Jisung’s body. “Didn’t expect you to fill out quite so well, though.” 

Jisung blushed, looking down and realizing he was still naked. He immediately covered his dick. He looked at Minho, mortified.

Minho was smirking at him, amused, “It’s not like I didn’t see plenty of that last night.” 

Jisung cringed, “Fuck. Did we really-” 

Minho snickered, “Not telling. You can remember what happened all on your own.” 

Jisung sighed, standing to find his pants. He shuffled them on quickly, finally turning back to Minho, who was sitting on the bed, relaxed, arms behind his head. 

“So,” Minho smiled, “Care to tell me what you’ve been up to the last decade?”

Jisung grimaced, but nodded, moving to sit next to Minho. He let out a small huff when Minho pulled him to snuggle into his side. “Is this all right?” He asked, softly. 

Jisung nodded, “Yes. I’m so worried if I let go of you, you’ll disappear.” 

Minho nodded, “I know the feeling.” 

“I’ve missed you so much.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Minho sighed into his hair. “So, tell me. How did my little squirrel grow up so strong?” 

Jisung blushed but began to explain the last ten years as best he could. It didn’t take too long, considering his life had been pretty routine. Although, Minho did enjoy hearing about some of the crazy quests he’d gone on for local people. Minho’s arms did tighten around him during some of the more emotional parts. Eventually though, Jisung sighed, “And of course, just because the rest of his soldiers are shit, Ulfric wants me to lead some stupid ass mission to get some ancient piece of metal.” 

“Are you going to do it?” Minho asked.

“Not like I have much of a right to say no,” Jisung mumbled bitterly. He turned around, “Enough about me though,” He hesitated, before lifting his hand to brush softly across the purple pattern on Minho’s forehead. “What happened to you?” 

“Can’t you guess?” Minho laughed bitterly. He reached up to still Jisung’s fingers, “That mark, these clothes? They aren’t for show, Jisung. I’m exactly what I fucking look like - a vessel for Ulfric and those under him to use however they want.” 

Jisung’s eyes filled with tears, “I should have looked for you.”

Minho sighed, “You may not have a mark on your head,” He flicked Jisung’s forehead lightly, “But it’s not like you’ve been any freer than me. You are as much a prisoner to Ulfric’s whims as I am. I don’t blame you, Jisung.” 

“How have we not crossed paths before?” Jisung asked, quietly.

Minho shrugged, “This is my first time in Windhelm. When they first took over the settlement, they only took the children. All of our parents were slaughtered.” Jisung twisted his wrist that Minho was still holding, and grabbed his hand. “The boys were sent to labor camps, mines to work. But the girls were immediately shipped off to hostels and pleasure houses, trained to be nothing more than whores - not good enough to be sold in marriages. I remember clearly when Ulfric walked down the row of children that he’d had lined up to inspect. He sent a few girls he felt were ‘too rugged’ to the mines. And,” Minho grimaced, “He sent me to the pleasure houses. Specifically demanded I be given his personal brand, and trained to take a cock like his.” He shuddered. 

Jisung felt his stomach twist in knots, a vicious anger rising in his gut. “I’m going to fucking beat the shit out of that cunt,” He growled. 

Minho frowned, “I don’t need you to fight my battles, Jisung.” He looked away, “Just because I’ve been trained to bend over, doesn’t mean I can’t put someone on their ass.” 

Jisung smiled, “I know that. You bested me more than once when we sparred as kids.” 

“We aren’t kids anymore,” Minho smirked, eyes trailing over Jisung’s chiseled form. “You’d probably best me, these days.” 

“Yeah, well, I know for a fact your magic can wipe the floor with me.” 

Minho frowned in pain, “It used to be able to,” He tapped his forehead, “But this stupid mark blocks my mana, keeps me from accessing my spells.” 

_ Of course it does,  _ Jisung thought bitterly. “Well, I’m sure you have other ways of getting shit done.” 

Minho grinned at him, a twinkle in his, “They never even see me coming.” 

Jisung sighed, leaning back, “I’m going to free you.” 

Minho froze, “Jisung, you don’t have to-”

“I’m going to free you,” Jisung said, brokering no arguments. “The only fucking reason I’ve played nice all these years was because I didn’t know I had anyone to fight for. I’ve just been biding my time for a reason to act, one way or another. And now I have one. You have always been my reason, Min. So I’m going to fucking get you out of here, one way or another.” 

Minho stared at him, emotion in his eyes. “I haven’t had anyone in so long.” 

“Well, you’ll always have me,” Jisung snapped. He stood up, looking for his cuirass and boots. “If I have to fucking play nice, long enough to get you out of here, I will.” 

Minho stood up, too. Jisung’s eyes raked over his form, slowly. Specifically the linen cloths that barely covered the essential areas of his body. “What’s your plan?” He asked.

“I’m going to take Ulfric’s stupid job,” He sighed. “It’s an important one. Doing it for him will win me a lot of favor. In fact, I’ll negotiate with him, using you as one of the terms of my leading the mission.” 

Minho raised his brow, “You have that kind of sway?” 

Jisung shrugged, “I know how to wield an axe,” He said awkwardly, “That makes me valuable to them. So I’ll use it.” 

Minho nodded, stepping forward, “Jisung?” He hesitated before bringing his hand up to brush along the scars on Jisung’s cheek and the corner of his mouth. “Be careful, okay? I’m not worth more than you.” 

Jisung’s face softened, hand coming up to hold Minho’s against his cheek. “I’ve never felt more empty than the day that I thought you were dead. If you are alive, well then, there is nothing I’d rather give my life to protect.” 

Minho grinned, “I see you are as stubborn as ever.” 

“Yup,” Jisung grinned. 

Minho’s thumb ran over the scar closest to Jisung’s lip; “Come back to me,” he whispered. 

Jisung smiled. “I promise.” 

And then he forced himself to push from the room, before he did something stupid like kiss his best friend. Because even after almost ten years apart, they’d never be anything less. 

Jisung pushed into his house, immediately drawing the attention of his uncle. 

“Jisung, where were you last night?” He grumbled. 

“Candlehearth,” Jisung said noncommittally as he climbed the ladder to the loft. 

“All night?” His uncle had his hands on his hips. 

“Yup,” He confirmed, packing his knapsack with some of the essential items he’d need from his chest - like a healing potion or three, some lockpicks and the like. 

“I take it you’re going on Ulfric’s mission?” 

Jisung through his bag over his shoulder and slid down the ladder. “We both know I didn’t really have any other option. Besides,” He said, packing some bread and cheese, “I have a bargaining piece.” 

His uncle raised his brow, “Oh? What’s that?” 

“Remember Minho?” 

His uncle hesitated, “The little elf boy you always talked about?” 

“Yeah. He’s not so little anymore, and he’s very much alive.” 

“What? Where?” 

“He’s one of Susanna’s latest additions. He bare’s Ulfric’s brand.” 

Brunwulf’s eyes widened. “Jisung, Ulfric never releases his slaves.” 

“Well,” Jisung said firmly, “He’s going to have to, if he wants the stupid crown.” 

“Jisung,” His uncle grabbed his wrist, “You aren’t invincible. Ulfric will kill you if you prove unmanageable.” 

“Don’t you think I know that?” He snapped. “But I don’t care. I’m not leaving Minho to be...to be forced into selling himself!” Jisung frowned. “I’ve done everything right for the past ten years, Uncle. But when was the last time I  _ lived. _ ” He huffed angrily. “My mom gave her life to protect me - to give me a life. But this isn’t what she wanted for me, was it?”

His uncle sighed, “Jisung..” 

“I’ll do what I have to, to convince Ulfric I’m not a threat.”

“There is no bargaining with him, Jisung.”

“Then I’ll take what I want by force. He doesn’t get to own us, anymore. There is a whole fucking world out there. I shouldn’t have to stay here, taking someone else’s order for my life.” 

Brunwulf sighed, “I understand. I guess you’re ready, then. Come.” He moved towards his bedroom, guiding a very confused Jisung to follow. “These have been passed down for generations. Your father once wielded them,” He sighed, “Before he was driven out, he left them with me. Made me promise to give them to my own son one day. But I never married, and neither of us dreamed I’d up raising you like my own. He’d want you to have them. However, never in their history have they been given to a boy - only to a man. Well,” Brunwulf grinned, “I guess even that isn’t true. Your great-great aunt wielded them for a time. But the point is, these were never what made the warrior. The warrior made them great.” 

Jisung wasn’t sure what his uncle was rambling about, until he pushed aside his nightstand, showing a hidden compartment in the wall. From within the wall he pulled two separate bundles, each wrapped in tight cloths. “These are yours,” He hummed, handing them over. 

Jisung took the weight easily, lighter than he expected, but still heavy. He moved to sit on his uncle's bed, as he carefully unwrapped the first of the two bundles. As he finished unwrapping the bundle, his breath caught. 

“Is this-” He asked reverently.

“An Ancient Nord War Axe?” His uncle finished his question, “Yeah.” 

The axe wasn’t too long in length, nor was it large in size. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, creating a delicate but firm grip. The hilt itself seemed to be made straight from bone, giving it an eerie hue. The blade itself seemed to melt right into the bone of the hilt, longer on one end than the other, both sides gleaming with a sharp sheen that should have faded long ago. Etched into the steel were ancient runes and patterns, almost shining purple in the right lighting. The second bundle revealed an identical axe. 

“These are beautiful,” Jisung murmured.

“They are,” His uncle agreed. “And they are officially in your care.” 

Jisung looked at his uncle, “I will treasure them,” He said seriously.

“You’d better,” He smiled. “But enough talk. You have a warlord to persuade.” 

Jisung grinned, finishing unwrapping the axes, and fastening them to the special belt he found mixed in with the rest of the wrappings. He felt powerful, knowing they were on his belt. Before he went to leave, he moved over to one of the tables and dropped his own pair of steel axes on the surface. He waved his uncle goodbye before slipping from the house. 

The walk to the palace was brisk and took no more than a few minutes. He pushed through the doors loudly, making a scene as he marched across the floor to Ulfric’s throne. Ulfric looked up as he approached, brow raised. 

Jisung moved to kneel before him, “My Lord Jarl,” He stated boldly, “I have a request to ask of you, my Lord.” 

“Well,” Ulfric boomed, “This is unusual. Tell me, Jisung Free-Winter. What is it that has brought you, so out of character, to bow at my feet?” 

Jisung didn’t dare to look up, insisting on this false display of respect until the end. “My Lord, there is a slave under your protection whom I wish to purchase.” 

Ulfric’s booming laugh filled the hall, “Tell me Galmar,” Ulfric said, bringing Jisung’s attention to the large man who stood nearby, “Did you ever envision Han Free-Winter’s son would prostrate himself at my feet, just to purchase a human life?” 

Jisung cringed, knowing that to others that is exactly what he appeared to be doing. He didn’t care. If this would bring Minho his freedom, he’d stay on his knees for the rest of his life.

“Indeed I didn’t,” Galmar boomed, “Must be a pretty fine ass to entice such a  _ saint. _ ” 

“Fine indeed. Very well, Jisung. You have my attention. What do you think you can offer me, in exchange for your desired prize?” 

“I am willing to lead your soldiers, My lord,” Jisung murmured, “To the very steps of the Blue Palace.”

“You would lead my men, those whom you have disdained as long as I’ve known you, just for a slave?” Ulfric’s voice was low, almost dangerous. “Pray tell, which slave is it that has so captured your attention?” 

“One of Susanna’s latest additions,” Jisung said softly. 

Even without looking up, Jisung could sense the tense set to Ulfric’s shoulders. “The boy?” 

Jisung dared to look up, “Yes, My Lord.” 

Ulfric’s eyes stared coldly into Jisung’s. “And for this you would win me my war?” 

“Starting with the Jagged Crown, yes.” 

“Very well,” Ulfric said, after a frigid moment. “You bring me the Jagged Crown, and commit to my army, and the whore will be yours.” 

“Thank you, My Lord,” Jisung bowed deeper. 

“Galmar, bring Jisung fully up to speed and make sure he has a map.  I expect the company on the road within the hour.” With that, Ulfric waved Jisung away. 

He scrambled to his feet and followed Galmar into the war room. 

“This is a colossal mistake,” Galmar snapped, when they were bent over the table.

Jisung rolled his eyes, “Ulfric doesn’t seem to think so. Just tell me the plan.” 

Galmar glared at him before explaining the known layout of the crypt and that it was currently under imperial control. “You’ll lead the charge.” 

“What, too scared to lead your men, yourself?” Jisung taunted.

Galmar approached him, face dangerous. “Run that by me again?”

Jisung smirked, “I’m just saying. Seems weird that you won’t lead your own men into battle.” 

“You’re the one who volunteered to lead Ulfric’s armies,” He retorted.

“Yes, I did. Doesn’t mean I find it any less ironic that you are so willing to command your men to lay down their lives, but aren’t willing to do the same for them. No wonder your war hasn’t been won yet.” He stepped back before Galmar could protest. “I’ll head out to Korvanjund immediately. I’ll scout out the area and wait for you to catch up. I’ll expect you first thing in the morning.” 

“Fine,” Galmar nodded curtly. “You’re dismissed.” 

Jisung raised his brow in a smirk. “Sure. I’ll see myself out.” 

Jisung rode hard and fast through the afternoon, into the dark of evening. When he finally arrived at the Nightgate inn, he left his horse tethered outside, before marching inside. The owner, Hadring had seen Jisung a few times and greeted him warmly, asking him if he was there for the ‘usual’. Jisung confirmed his plans, eagerly climbing into bed. Of course, as he lay in bed, he couldn’t help but wonder what his previous night, at Candlehearth Hall had been like. He was dying to know what had happened between them, if they’d actually had sex or not. But despite his curiosity he was, more than anything, just ecstatic to have once more been in his best friend’s arms. Of course, he never expected his best friend to grow into as handsome a person as he had. It was honestly unfair, for someone to be that beautiful. Not that Jisung was  _ really  _ complaining. He’d gotten a delicious eyeful that morning, and honestly was hoping it wouldn’t be the last time. Only, of course, if  _ Minho  _ wanted to let him. He was pretty fucking determined to free Minho from the obligation of showing that much skin. Jisung drifted to sleep thinking of nothing but the beauty he was intent on saving. 

Pretty soon he was on the road the next morning, headed towards the crypt. He was glad Ulfric had ordered Galmar to provide him with a map - even though he was somewhat testy about the fact that he had to do this stupid ass quest. He consulted it a few times on the road, but eventually came to a cross road. Instead of continuing straight towards dawnstar, he moved left towards Whiterun, looking for the small path that would shortly lead him towards the crypt. Of course, he didn’t take it all the way, in fact he barely took it at all. He needed to tether his horse somewhere and he didn’t want any of the imperials to find him. Then he’d have to kill more of them, and he really didn’t want to kill more people than he needed to - let alone whatever was down in the crypt.

Not bothering to check the rendezvous point, Jisung slipped closer to the outside of Korvanjund, scouting the area. Bandit bodies littered the ground, specifically at the base of the stairs leading up to the grand doors. Five Imperial soldiers were stationed around the area. Jisung scanned their backs, only noting two with bows. The rest had imperial swords attached to their hips. Despite the fact that Jisung was adept with a bow, he usually preferred to utilize his war axes. But, no matter how eager he was to try out his new axes, he understood that often strategy requires the use of more than one weapon. So, grudgingly he stationed himself behind one of the decaying pillars on the eastern side of the north eastern side of the fortress, and pulled out his hunting bow. The sun had yet to rise fully, so he was still protected by the shadows of night, as he strung his bow and raised it, an iron arrow nocked in place. He loosed it quick and with deadly aim, as it slammed just between the soldier’s shoulder blades.

The arrow lodged itself into the man’s flesh, piercing his heart, and he stumbled backwards, tumbling down the stairs. With a smirk, Jisung watched as the soldiers scrambled to locate where the arrow had come from, nocking another arrow, and sending it to fly through the neck of the other archer. The remaining three foot soldiers located him, then, but that was alright. Jisung could handle three in direct combat. He nimbly jumped down to the upper level, next to the doors and waited at the top of the stairs, axes glistening in the rising sun as he pulled them out, twirling them gracefully. He had the high ground, and the other soldiers would have to meet him on the stairs. They came at him in a rush, but still one by one. Honestly they’d have been better off charging him. As the first ran up towards him, Jisung parried the swing of their sword, twisting his axe to lock the weapon in place, sliding it down to the hilt and ripping the weapon out of the soldier’s hands. In the next move, he kicked the soldier’s chest, sending them flying backwards, into the other two soldiers. They tumbled backwards with a loud cry, but Jisung was there in the next, silencing each of them with a few quick slashes. Jisung swung his axes once more, grinning at how effective they were. He looted through a few pockets, checking for any gold he could claim - if he didn’t some other person would surely claim it; and the last thing he wanted was for more gold to land directly into the pocket of Ulfric Stormcloak.

Galmar had yet to show up, so Jisung rolled his shoulders and surveyed the area, noticing a gate. When he reached it, he tried to open it, only to find it was locked. That was fine. There was a reason he always brought lockpicks with him. He fumbled around for a minute, springing the lock after a few minutes - the locker was tougher than he’d thought. Behind the gate, a large chest was found. Jisung moved over, grabbing the large coin purses next to the chest and then rummaged inside - finding more gold, several gemstones and a spell book on how to “longstride”. Normally he wouldn’t care about spell books; he had no affinity for magic. But he thought of Minho. Once he’d freed Minho and gotten rid of the mana seal on the elf’s head, Jisung knew Minho would want to practice magic once more. So he put the book into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. 

He slipped from the gated area once more and headed back up top. There, he waited. It didn’t take long for Galmar and the rest to show up; Jisung assumed they sent a scout forward first to ascertain the situation, only to note Jisung sitting haughtily next to the stairs. 

“Took you long enough,” He taunted, as Galmar grumbled his way towards him. 

“I thought we were meeting first.” 

“We were going to. But I wanted to wet my blades first.” Jisung grinned towards the other soldiers, “Ready to conquer this place?” They all grinned at him but Galmar grumbled once more.

“Never mind the talking, let’s go kill some imperial scum!” Galmar shouted, pushing past Jisung towards the great doors. 

“After you,” Jisung followed, a heartbeat behind the rest. 

The first few rooms were simple - no more than two or three imperials in each room. Eventually though they came to a door, leading them deeper into Korvanjund, into its inner halls. Jisung led the way through, noticing immediately upon entering that there was a fouler scent down there. The source was soon discovered, as he stumbled upon two bodies at the foot of the first staircase. One was an imperial soldier, the other was that of a draugr. Great. Of course there would be draugr down there. 

Jisung noticed more draugr and soldiers further up the stairs. On a few of the bodies he found axes similar to his own - but much less cared for. His ancestors had preserved the weapons, polished them. These weapons had lain in the ancient tombs of the draugr that were now wielding them once more. 

Following the trail of bodies led them to a great, narrow hall, the hall of stories where at the end, just before an intricately carved door with strange markings and holes,  lay two slaughter imperials and a large ebony claw. Jisung had found a similar claw a year or so prior when on a quest for a local merchant. So he knew how to use the claw. 

Jisung smirked when Galmar expressed confusion, easily arranging the markings to match the patterns on the claw itself - a fox, a dragonfly and a dragon. Galmar lifted his chin and looked away as Jisung successfully slid the claw in place and activated the lock. He was even more annoyed in the next room when he couldn’t figure out how to open another gate. Jisung looked around the surroundings, noting a walkway up above. He moved up a stone staircase and across the platform, seeing almost immediately that there was a handle. He turned it effortlessly and the grate instantly opened up down below. However, several of the coffins around the room also opened, draugr spilling out. However, at a glance, Jisung noted there weren’t more than the other soldiers could handle. So, he opened up the chest next to the handle, finding a few raw amethysts. On his way bag towards the stairs, he saw a part of the wall that looked odd. He’d seen walls like this before. Looking around the nearby area, he searched for anything that might activate the hidden passage he believed was behind the wall. He found a dagger, balanced oddly on a metal platform. Hoping he was right, he lifted it gently, nodding in satisfaction and the grating of stone upon stone that came from his left. He followed the passage swiftly, avoiding the traps in place as he opened up another chest, this one containing a diamond and a few copper circlets. 

Jisung ran down the stairs, knowing Galmar would have a few things to say about his delay. He didn’t need to know what Jisung had found. He pushed through the final door, towards Korvanjund Crypt, catching up with the others. They were hesitating just on the edges of a great throne room. Next to the throne stood two large tombs, and on the throne itself sat a decayed and mummified corpse. On the corpse’s head rested the jagged crown, carved of bone.

 Jisung could tell by the look on everyone else’s faces that they knew it was a trap. So, with a confident smirk, he told them to stay still, and moved forward confidently, twin axes circling, before he threw one of them forward in a flash, lodging it in the corpse’s face. As predicted, the corpse rose with a cry. Not only was it a draugr, but it was a draugr scourge. Before the scourge could sent a spell his way, or swing the very large ancient battle axe it was pulling from behind its back, Jisung sprang forward, using the axe already lodged in it’s head to pull the head forward and angle it in such a way that he could cleanly sever its head from his shoulders. The scourge’s body sagged, and Jisung caught the edge of the crown with his axe, slipping it on his own head before he turned back towards the two restless draugr now spilling from their own tombs. 

He took care of them quickly, wiping his axes down with a linen wrap he picked up from a nearby table. He turned around to see Galmar dismissing the rest of the soldiers, mumbling orders to ‘secure the entrances’ and ‘keep out imperial scum’. Jisung started to look around the empty room, when Galmar stormed over to him and yanked the crown from his head, violent eyes seething. “How  _ dare  _ you,” He spat, literally, at Jisung’s feet. “How dare you put this on your head.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jisung snorted, “Did you want me to let it roll on the ground?” 

Galmar pushed him, “Anything would be better than letting it reset on your unworthy head. I  _ told  _ Ulfric it was a mistake to send your prideful, incompetent ass on this mission.” 

“Prideful?” Jisung laughed, “Sure. But Incompetent? Who the hell just took care of the draugr scourge? Who took care of more than half of the imperials in this place? Only one of us is incompetent,  _ Galmar,  _ and it isn’t me!” 

Galmar’s eyes narrowed in pure rage. “I am not the incompetent one,  _ Brat.  _ Only an incompetent little shit like you would believe Ulfric would ever let his favorite piece of ass go free. Tell me,  _ Free-Winter.  _ When you bed that elvish whore, did he tell you how often Ulfric has driven his cock into his filthy hole? How many times  _ I  _ have?” Galmar thrust the crown at Jisung, smirking at the way Jisung was still with fury. “Get this back to Windhelm as soon as fast as you can ride. And tell Ulfric I’m looking forward to the drink he owes me. He did promise me I could choose whichever whore I wanted, upon my return. And I know just who I-”

Before Galmar could finish his taunt, the heel of Jisung’s hand went crashing upwards, causing Galmar’s bottom teeth to puncture through the tip of his disgusting tongue. Galmar howled in pain and rage, stumbling backwards. “You won’t  _ ever  _ lay another of your  _ fucking fingers  _ on Minho,” Jisung said coldly, stepping forwards nimbly, fist colliding with Galmar’s cheek. “You won’t ever fucking  _ use  _ your finger’s again, or the pathetic thing you call a dick,” Jisung growled, kneeing Galmar in the crotch,  _ hard.  _ Galmar hissed, buckling forward, onto his knees. Jisung kicked Galmar’s chin, sending the older,  _ useless _ , man onto his back. Jisung moved to straddle him, satisfied at the sight of Galmar’s blood bleeding from his nose. He pulled out his axes, making an X in front of Galmar’s throat. “I can feel you trembling beneath me,” Jisung smirked, “Like the fucking coward you are. You think you’re so big, so untouchable. But that’s only because you rape women who can’t fight back, and slaves who have already been beaten into submission.” 

Galmar tried to move. Jisung pressed the sharp edge of his axe along Galmar’s throat, just hard enough to prick the skin. “I wouldn’t move if I were you,” Jisung hissed. But Galmar didn't listen. He tried to swing his fist forward, to drive the metal bear claws into Jisung’s cheek, the same one he’d already mutilated when Jisung was a child. Jisung moved away from the blow, avoiding it. He changed his angle on the axes to slam the flat side against Galmar’s jaw. Then he dropped them to his side, grabbing at Galmar’s hands, forcing them beneath his knees. He grabbed the hand that had tried to claw at him, twisting his wrist painfully, as he wrenched the clawed gauntlet from Galmar’s forearm.      

“You know,” Jisung said, darkly. “I always wondered what it would feel like to wear this, to slice through a child’s face who only wanted to save his mother.” Jisung slipped the gauntlet onto his own hand. “But you know, wearing it now? It just sort of confirms what I've always know about you, Galmar  _ Stone-Fist. _ ” Jisung slid backwards, just enough to get better leverage, without losing control of the position. “You use these on children because they are stronger than you. You use them on women because you are too weak to use your own two fucking hands. You are the epitome of cowardice and the total summation of everything but a man.” Jisung grinned, “And now I’m going to ensure you never forget it.” 

Jisung slid the claws through Galmar’s pants, ripping them open - noting the absolutely terrified look on Galmar’s face. 

“What are you doing?” Galmar squeaked, “Please, don’t- don’t,” But Jisung could care less what Galmar cried. 

“Tell me, Galmar,” Jisung said calmly, as he placed the sharp claws against Galmar’s most sensitive flesh, “Did you listen to my mother’s pleas?” 

“I- Jisung-  _ Please, _ ” Jisung sliced open the skin, just as Galmar begged, turning the word into a blood curdling scream. He leaned back to avoid the spray of blood that followed. Galmar, ever the coward, passed out from the pain, and Jisung stood up, hands shaking. He ripped the gauntlet from his hand and threw it onto Galmar’s chest. “That’s for raping my mother, you  _ cunt. _ ” And then he moved,  grabbing his axes and sliding them back onto his belt. He stuffed the jagged crown into his bag, moving quickly up a wooden log staircase to the side. Every crypt always had a back door. He found it quickly, and ran through a corridor that led back to Korvanjund Temple. 

As he ran through the wide entry hall of Korvanjund, he nodded to a few of the stormcloaks who were already stationed near the door. One of them turned to him.

“Jisung,” He called out, “I was told by Ulfric to escort you back to Windhelm once we retrieved the crown.” 

Jisung smiled, begging the soldier to back off. “Thanks, but I will travel faster alone.”

“I-” The soldier started, frowning with uncertainty.

“Besides,” Jisung smirked, “Galmar needs help back in the crypt. He found some ancient runes he needs help cataloging.” 

“Oh!” The soldier grinned, “I love deciphering texts,” 

“I know you do,” Jiusng cut off. “So, I guess, head back that way?” 

Before the soldier could say more, Jisung was moving towards the main door. He had a lot of ground to cover if he was going to make it back to Windhelm before words of his treason reached Ulfric. As soon as he was outside, he was sprinting to his horse and jumping on. He set a hard and fast pace, only stopping once at the river to let his horse catch recover. He’d spent most of the day clearing out the crypt, so by the time he was approaching Windhelm, it was long since dark. Jisung led his horse straight to the stables, pleased that at least one stable hand was up. He tossed him a coin, and ripped the saddle bag from his horse as he stepped back. He hesitated for half a second, kissing the horses nose. He knew he’d never see him again. And then he was moving quickly towards the city gates. He was completely confident that he had traveled before any news of his treason. He was the fastest rider of all the soldiers, and he was the only one who’d brought his horse anywhere near Korvanjund. The rest would have kept their horses at the nearest Eastmarch campsite, which was far enough away that Jisung felt assured in his arrival. 

He moved quickly through the city, creeping into the Gray Quarter where he pounded on the door to Sadri’s Used Wares, saddle bag still slung over his shoulder. 

After three solid minutes of Jisung pounding on his door, Revyn Sadri pulled swung it open, an annoyed expression dominating his features. “By the nine,  _ what  _ do you  _ want _ ?!” 

Jisung pushed past him. “I don’t have a lot of time, Revyn. Remember that time I planted that ring Viola’s house for you? Yeah, I’m officially calling in that favor you owe me.” 

Revyn blanched, slamming the door behind Jisung. “Fine. Just keep it down!” 

Jisung exhaled, “ _ Thank  _ you. He dumped the saddle bag on Revyn’s counter. He also ripped open his shoulder bag, pulling out all of the gems and treasure he'd found in Korvanjund. “I need two knapsacks, enough food for two people traveling at least a week, two  _ large  _ fur coats and anything else you will give me for what I have here,” Jisung rambled, shoving his stock pile towards Revyn. 

Revyn’s eyes widened, “What the blazes have you done, now, Jisung?” He sighed. But despite his bewilderment, he was moving into action, appraising the gems and jewelry, and finding Jisung what he’d asked for. 

He packed the knapsacks requested full of food, and then pulled out, from a chest somewhere in the back, to large winter outfits. “Here,” Revyn explained, “A recent trade with Dunmer illegals,” His eyes flashed at Jisung, daring him to question his methods, “Brought me these - two authentic Skaal Coats.” 

Jisung’s eyes widened, “Wait, like from Solstheim?” 

“Exactly,” Revyn nodded. “These will keep you warm, even along the glacier paths through Winterhold.” 

Jisung nodded, “That’s perfect; Thank you, Revyn.” 

Revyn shrugged, “Not like I’m giving them to you for free. And I  _ did  _ owe you.” 

Jisung grinned, “You did, indeed. I almost got caught planting that, you know.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Revyn laughed. He place a bag of coins on the counter, “Here.” 

Jisung raised a brow, “You got me all the items I needed and more,” He said.

“And you brought me triple their cost in value. It’s the least I can do.” 

Jisung flushed, “Thank you, Revyn. I mean it.” 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Revyn said, “But I wish you well, Jisung Free-Winter. I remember what your father did for my people. I will never be able to fully pay you back for that.” 

“And he wouldn’t want you to,” Jisung said solemnly. “I have to go, but thank you again.” 

“May the nines bless you on your journey,” Revyn said, bowing in farewell. 

“And you,” Jisung nodded, slipping back into the dank alleys of the Grey Quarter. 

He held his breath as he sprinted towards Candlehearth Hall. Elda looked up, wide eyed. “Jisung? I thought you’d surely be gone longer.” 

Jisung shrugged, trying to seem normal, “What can I say? I have a penchant for slaughter.” 

She laughed, “And is that why you feel the need to drink yourself silly upon returning?” 

Jisung gave a bitter smile, “Something like that.” 

Elda quirked a brow, “Oh? Are you perhaps here to lose yourself in another kind of pleasure?” 

Jisung blushed, but nodded. “Perhaps.” 

“Should I arrange for the same to be brought to you?” Elda smirked.

“Yes, please,” Jisung nodded. “And quickly.” 

“My my, aren’t we eager?” She laughed mirthfully. “Not even going to drink something, first?” 

“No. I’d prefer to remember the night, this time.” It was true, after all. He never wanted to lose another memory of MInho.

“Fair enough,” Elda grinned. “I’ll have Susanna send for Lee Know.” 

“Thank you,” Jisung hesitated. “Elda?” 

She turned back, “Yes, Jisung?” 

“I never thanked you, for helping my Uncle smile again.” 

Her eyes widened, not expecting that. “I- you. Where did that come from?” She asked bewildered.

“Just been thinking about it,” Jisung shrugged. “I hope you take care of him, okay?” 

Her eyes turned worried, “Jisung. Are you sure everything’s alright?” She asked. 

“Positive,” Jisung nodded. Stepping back from the counter. “Will it be the same room?” 

“Yes,” She nodded, “Let me know if you need anything, services or otherwise.” 

Jisung nodded, “Will do,” He leaned over the bar and kissed her cheek. “Thanks!” 

And then he sprinted towards the room, waiting impatiently for Minho to return.

It didn’t take long for Minho to open the door, eyes widening upon noticing that it was Jisung he was summoned to meet. 

“Ji?” He asked, shutting the door behind him and rushing over. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” He said, pulling Jisung into a hug. 

“I wasn’t expecting to be back so soon,” Jisung mumbled. He pushed Minho back a bit, “But Min, we don’t have time. I know this is going to sound crazy, but,” He took a breath, holding Minho’s gaze steadily. “Run away with me.” 

Jisung was prepared with a list of reasons, of persuasive arguments as to why Minho should follow him down this insane, risky path. He was prepared to spend at least half an hour trying to convince Minho to come with him.

What he didn’t expect was for Minho’s angled eyes to widen softly, mouth opening narrowly, to whisper an immediate, inarguable, “Okay.” 

But then, Minho never had been one to do the expected.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO......  
> hopefully that wasn't TOO intense and you enjoyed it!!
> 
> Next Chapter we will learn more about Minho and what he's REALLY been up to for the last ten years...
> 
> (I will be posting the next chapter of Expectation's Dance before I post new content here, though. So, if that story is your baby - don't worry .it's coming :D)
> 
> ~SweetPotatoKimchi~


	7. Rise of Shadow-Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay,” Minho said simply. He had come back to the belly of the beast for Jisung, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice to leave, now that they were finally together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.   
> The first thing I need to say is THIS CHAPTER IS THE REASON THE RATING HAS GONE UP.   
> I debated a lot of things, when I sat down at my computer to write this part. I really debated how graphic I was going to get. But, the more I contemplated, the more I really wanted to be true to the experiences I believe that REALISTICALLY a sex slave Minho would go through. It is gruesome. It is hard. And it can be very triggering. I am a victim of sexual assault and rape. I have had many a journey, and I recognize that people in different stages of recovery can handle different things. So if you start to feel uncomfortable BAIL. As a victim, this chapter is not about sexualizing or fantasizing. This chapter is about telling a story I think the character I created needs to tell. Sometimes characters really do have voices, and I want to be true to this one. 
> 
> Some of the things Minho experiences fall into "kinks" for different people. I am in NO WAY kink shaming. I think different things work for different people and I would never tell ANYONE that their preferences are wrong or shameful. The point I am making is that consent is key. If one of the things done to Minho, that really messes with his brain, is something you enjoy, know that I am simply showing how it was not his choice. I am trying to show that MInho has very little choice over what is done to him. And it leads him down a dark path because he is going to cling desperately to the choices he does have.
> 
> Okay. I think that is enough for my sermon. I'm debating whether I should add tags here or below. I think I'll add below to save people from spoilers if they don't want to immediately see what is going to come up. 
> 
> Oh! and... haha... didn't really proofread this. Just kinda wanted to move on. !

The first time Minho took a cock in his ass, he was thirteen years old. It had hurt, but it was over quickly. The man, a drunken, dirty man, was a Housecarl to some pompous Thane of the Rift. 

For two years, he had been prepared and trained to behave like an honored slave of Ulfric Stormcloak. And for every minute of those two years, Minho had resisted. Nothing about his new life was familiar or comfortable. The purple mark on his head itched the longer he resisted. The clothes he was forced to wear left eyes trailing after him, never mind that he was still a young boy. Maybe, if he’d been able to practice magic he’d have been able to find some solace - a magelight when the shadows of the dark closets he was pushed into grew suffocating - a small flame to warm him when water leaked in through the broken planks of roofs above his head - healing spells for when the cold rain left him sick and weak. He missed his mana, the ability to feel it coursing through his blood, ever waiting for his guidance. To be cut off from that pool of energy, was almost as bad as being as being cut off from Jisung, almost.

But even that divide was wider than could be expressed. Minho missed Jisung. And he would never forgive himself for being the reason Jisung and their families were slaughtered. He could still remember the sight of his mother’s blood as it sprayed across the snow, pooling beneath her headless form. His father hadn’t even made it out of the burning buildings. His screams had been an echo in every dream since then.

Minho spent the years between 13 and 16 in Riften, being passed from man to man. Occasionally a woman of wealth would pay for him. He hated those moments even more than when he was fucked. At least with men, who put him on his hands and knees, Minho could pretend like he wasn’t affected. He felt as disengaged as they were when they tossed coins onto his stomach, landing in puddles of their own spunk. But women always wanted him to pretend, to whisper soft words. And he absolutely hated having to cherish them, like some twisted joke. He’d rather suck a thousand cocks than touch a woman who expected him to love her for the night.  

And he did, suck cock, he meant. One after the other, lords, merchants, thieves, farmers - everyone wanted a piece of the slave Ulfric had marked, the precious commodity whose prices were ever growing. At least the places he was forced to work, like Haelga’s bunkhouse, kept a shrine nearby, to cleanse him of any diseases he picked up from being used. Haelga would constantly preach to him, at night when the argonian dock worker had slipped into bed, and the last customer had paid for their pleasure, about her mistress Dibella, expecting him to bow down and beg to be her servant. But he didn’t want to be anyone’s servant. 

One day, when he was fifteen, he was sitting in the Bee and Barb, where he was forced to spend half his time. Keerava treated him alright, better than Haelga at any rate, although that day she was overwhelmed by some thieves guild drama, and hadn’t been too keen on dealing with Minho as well. So Minho was sitting near one of the exits on a simple wooden bench. A man in a yellow robe came in after a while - a young man. He introduced himself to Minho with a bright smile, asking him if he had time to hear about Lady Mara. 

Minho scrunched his face up in confusion, but shrugged. Was the man trying to buy him for a friend? But then the man, Maramal, was going off on a long winded speech about Mara’s displeasure in mortals and their foul ways. Minho had blushed from head to toe, realizing this man had no idea  _ what  _ he was. Hadn’t he seen the slave mark? But Minho realized after a moment that his hair had grown long enough to cover it on his forehead. Minho was snapped from his confusion when Maramal started talking about Mara’s kindness and particularly her emphasis on love. Something snapped in his chest. If Minho worshiped Mara, would she bring him back to Jisung? To the one person he hoped was still alive, caring about him? For all he knew, Jisung was executed years ago, with the rest of the settlement. But Minho hoped, oh how he hoped he was still alive. So Minho had offered up the few coins of his own that he had to spare, purchasing an amulet. He hid it in his boot, knowing he wasn’t allowed to wear it. Maramal stared at him confused, before all confusion was shattered at the entrance of Mjoll and Aerin. They were young, which was probably why they were shameless every time they sought out Minho’s,  _ Lee Know’s,  _ company for the evening. 

Minho imagined Maramal had never been faced with something as impure as the three of them walking out of the inn. Minho was sure that if Maramal could demand the amulet back, he would have. Minho’s heart hurt as he followed the others from the inn. He got barely any sleep that night, and only part of it was due to the sticky mess he was laying in, beneath two bodies who insisted he stay through the night. 

Worshipping Mara brought him some relief, if any could be found in the irony of a prostitute praying to the goddess of love and marriage. He knew it would be taken from him, if anyone found it, so he was always careful to keep it hidden.

Minho was afforded one night off every two weeks. He could spend that time however he wanted, so long as he returned before work hours then next morning. A year after he purchased the amulet, mid Hearthfire, Minho took his day off. He was a few days late, but he knew Jisung would have understood. He bought a sweet roll from Keerava, and then climbed up the stone walls of Mistveil Keep, perched high above the city as he pulled out his amulet and sent a plea to his chosen lady. Then he tore into the sweet roll.

“Happy Name Day, Jiji,” He whispered before biting into his treat. 

His own name day was near the end of Frost Fall, little more than three fortnights. He wondered if he would find more peace as a sixteen-year-old. Maybe he’d finally get out of Riften and closer to where Jisung was (he’d long since stopped questioning  _ if  _ the boy was alive. He had to be). 

It was perched up there, overlooking the edges of town and the way that Lake Honrich glistened in the moonlight, that Minho first bore witness to the cruelty of Grelod the Kind. Unlike her name and reputation suggested, the older woman dragged a small boy from the side door and through a garden of Nightshade. He couldn’t hear the exact words she spoke, but Minho saw through horrified eyes as she smashed the young boy’s head against the stone wall of the city. He fell to the ground, sobbing as she kicked him in the side.  _ No,  _ Minho found his heart beating frantically in his chest.  _ No. No child deserves that, _ he thought. 

He’d seen brutality more frequently than any person should, been witness and victim. But his forehead at least bore the mark of someone else’s ownership. It is what people expected to happen to a slave. But a child in an orphanage, while not always held in high regard, at least was not held in contempt by the public, at least had a  _ chance  _ at a decent living. And that boy down there, the small nord boy with puffy cheeks, he bore so much resemblance to the boy from MInho’s memories that he felt his fists tightening. He would not stand for this. He grasped his amulet harder in his fist and started to move down the wall of the keep, towards the quiet back garden. Grelod screeched at the young boy, demanding he sleep out in the cold. Minho heard the door latch into place as she entered once more. The boy continued to sob into his green shirt, cradling his head. 

Minho hopped the fence, helping the boy sit up. The boy initially flinched, thinking Grelod had come back for him. Minho shushed him quietly, promising that everything was going to be alright. He patted the boy’s back gently, helping him to calm down. “Are you alright?” Minho asked softly. 

The boy looked up at him, shrugging softly. He didn’t speak. 

“Silly question,” Minho gave him a sad look. “Are you hungry?” 

In answer, the boy’s stomach growled. 

“Here,” Minho stretched out his hand, depositing his barely touched sweet roll between his fingers. 

The boy looked uncertain for a moment, before Minho smiled encouragingly. After that the boy ate like he hadn’t eaten in months - he probably hadn’t, at least not anything substantial. 

“Is she always like that?” Minho asked, hesitantly. 

The boy’s eyes, wide and worried, looked at Minho before he nodded slightly, “Worse.” He cleared his throat, “Especially to the girls.” 

Minho frowned, but nodded. “Well,” he said simply, “I’ll just have to find a way to make her stop, then.” 

“Could you?” The boy asked, wonderingly.

“I  _ will,”  _ Minho emphasized. And then he was removing his cloak, “Here.” 

The boy’s eyes looked frightened, “If she sees-” 

Minho shook his head, “Fold it up, and stick it underneath that stone,” Minho pointed. “It’s been loose for years.” The boy followed his gaze, but nodded. “Check underneath it often,” Minho said softly, wrapping the boy up tight, “I’ll try to leave you and the rest a gift from time to time.” 

“Will you really help us?” 

“Yes,” Minho nodded, “Don’t give up hope.” 

And then he was moving towards the fence, stopping only to pick a few of Grelod’s toxic weeds. He hopped the fence effortlessly and then made his way down the creaky wooden steps towards the ratways. The one good thing about living in a stinking, nasty city, was Minho knew just where he could find a skeever. He didn’t have to go into the ratway far, he didn’t even have to lift a finger himself - traps were all over the ground in the ratways. After checking a few, he found a dead skeever. He used the jaws of the trap to help sever the creature’s tail, before he wrapped it in the cloth that had initially held his sweet roll. Then he was moving out of the dirty place and up the wooden stairs. He made a final stop just to the left of an abandoned house, to pick a lone deathbell flower, before he slipped through the darkness to Mistveil Keep. 

He had an odd understanding with Wylandriah, the court wizard. She was often stuck in her own head, but they had common ground in being elves, even if she was Bosmer, and he half Altmer and half Dunmer. She felt for him and the fact that he couldn’t practice magic. So, many times in the past, she had let him tinker at her alchemy and enchantment tables, giving him back a taste of what he’d lost. They weren’t friends. They never would be, while the mark remained on his head, but they did have an understanding. So it was to her rooms in the open keep that he moved that night. Minho was let through the gates easily, the guards long since taught not to question his presence, or to whose bed he was headed. And he was grateful for it. He moved quickly to her rooms, glad that no one was inside the hall, all having long since gone to bed. He made it into her rooms, finding that she too was long since lost to her dreams.

He worked quietly to grind the deathbell and nightshade, mixing them into a paste. The skeever tail took a bit more work. The tail needed to be processed. Minho used the chemicals at hand, still being cautious in keeping the volume of his work down. After he’d managed to cleanse the tail and almost crystalize it in the liquids, he grabbed a chopping knife on hand, and first diced the oddly textured flesh, before mincing it further. The next thing required was to get the basic mixture brewing, to which he could add his three ingredients. 

He prepped the Alembic, lighting a flame beneath the cucurbit, before he added the basic mixture. After it was heated, he added his mixture of crushed deathbell and nightshade, as well as minced skeever tail. He stirred a few times, before he placed the head of the cucurbit on top, making sure that the tube and receiver were in place to catch the vapors from the distilled liquid. The actual process would take longer than any of the prep, requiring him to monitor the temperature, making sure it stayed hot enough to produce the vapors, but cool enough so as to not scorch. While it worked to produce the desired drought, however, Minho worked to clean up the station. Luckily, for as much of an air head as Wylandriah was, she was also a neat freak. He made sure to sanitize his own hands after he cleared the area, not looking forward to catching whatever diseases lay upon the skeever - maybe he’d sneak in to Haelga’s shrine before going to bed. 

Finally his potion of damage health finished its brewing. With a grim smile, Minho poured the contents from the receiver into a thin vile, cleaning out the alembic and finally slipping away back the way he’d come. The gaurds appraised him not so slyly, probably looking to see how bad he was limping; MInho made a show of hissing after the first step down, rolling his eyes as the guards chuckled and whispered crude comments. 

Haelga looked up in surprise as Minho walked in. Usually Minho took longer on his nights off. “Everything all right?” She asked, trying to sound genuine in her concern. 

“I’m feeling a little off,” Minho lied, smoothly - well roughly; he made his voice sound scratchy. 

“Oh dear,” She said, appraising him. “Can’t have you getting sick.” She gestured behind her, “You ought to take a bit of time inside my room.” 

He nodded blankly, “Thank you, Haelga.” 

She smiled, “Of course, Lee Know.” 

Minho cleansed himself before the shrine, feeling the relief of impurities being taken from his flesh. He loved a good bath, especially after a particularly rough fuck, but that was more about comfort. Whether he worshipped Dibella or not, he rarely felt cleaner than when he received her blessings. He could only imagine what receiving a cleansing at Mara’s shrine would feel like. Except the one time he’d tried to approach her temple, he’d been barred from even taking the first step. 

Minho smiled at Haelga in thanks as he stepped around her counter. 

“How was your night?” She asked, feigning curiosity - or maybe she was genuinely curious. It was always hard to tell. 

“Fine,” Minho shrugged, “But I definitely think I was getting sick before you let me- well,” He glanced at her door. “I’m a bit tired. Is it alright if I turn in for the night?” 

“It’s your night off. No need to ask permission.” 

“Thank you,” He inclined his head, leaving her with little more said. 

That night, he stared at his ceiling, vile tucked carefully into a loose floorboard, contemplating how he was going to go through with his plans. The one thing he never asked himself was  _ if  _ he was going to. From the moment he’d seen the boy hit that wall, he’d been prepared to kill Grelod the  _ bitch.  _

 

Work resumed as usual, early the next afternoon, as a weary carriage driver requested company in his small tent just outside camp. He was hired to set out again in a few hours, but wanted to forget himself in the meantime. So Minho had been sent. It was strange, how many men didn’t care if a woman or man was sent - how many men just wanted a tight hole. Minho let him fuck him against his worn leather mat, nevermind the fact that anyone could ride down the trail. The man grunted, smacking his ass. He kept praising Minho, who moaned at all the right times, and acted like he wanted more. It was degrading; it always was. When the man finally pulled out, seed spilling beneath Minho’s thighs, Minho shifted back into his pants. He sat up, making sure his boots were tied still, before he glanced at the man’s carriage. “Are those fresh apples?” He asked, curiously. 

The driver looked at him, surprised to hear him say something other than how big his (actually puny) cock was. “They are. Do you like sweet things, Baby?” 

MInho put on his best smile, “Of course.” 

“I’ll give you some,” The man offered. Minho held his breath, knowing he wasn’t done. “If..” He trailed off. 

Minho didn’t know why it always felt like it took more pride for him to give in during these moments. It was easier to sell himself for money, when the mark on his forehead meant he had no choice. But to sell himself for something like an apple - something so simple and basic, it just was so  _ wrong.  _ But he fluttered his eyelashes. “If what?” He purred, getting back down on his knees. “How can I please you, big guy?” 

The man grinned wolfishly, before he flipped MInho back on his stomach, ripping off his pants and drilling him again. He grumbled about how hot it was to fuck into him, wet with his own cum, and after he released, all over Minho’s face, he told him to stay still, while he peed on him, too.

Minho had to hold himself back from crying or puking, as he stood back up, getting dressed once more, just to be handed  _ two  _ apples. It didn’t feel worth it, to be  _ that  _ degraded, but he smiled at the jerk, before he slipped the apples in his bag. As soon as he was out of sight, he ran, eyes stinging as he finally cried. He hadn’t cried in years, not since the first time he’d had to suck a dick. He’d been so nervous his teeth had grazed against the seven inch penis. The man had backhanded him so hard the bruise lasted for two weeks. 

Minho ran to the lake, hanging his bag from a tree before he jumped in, clothes and all. Any other day he wouldn’t have chosen the murky water, so close to the city, to rinse off in, but  _ anything  _ felt better than letting the man’s fluids dry against his skin. He scrubbed them, hard and fast and sobbing. He needed to vent this poison in his chest, before it consumed him. He stomped back up the bank, and grabbed his bag. As he made his way to Haelga’s, eyes followed him, trailed after him as he furiously made his way to the building. He’d never let his emotions slip out so obviously, and mouths were already whispering about what could have driven him to such obvious anger. He knew he needed to gain control, hide his pain from so many of his clients. But he just couldn’t fake it right now. 

He slammed open the door to Haelga’s Bunkhouse, ignoring her pleas as he pushed past her into her bedroom, locking her own door as he sat before her shrine. But for the first time, the cleansing didn’t feel like enough. He could still remember the feeling of that man’s urine, mixing with his sperm as it congealed on his cheeks, too warm and runny to be anything but pure filth. Minho turned to the side and threw up, letting out everything he’d eaten in the past several days. Gods, he’d been so concerned with getting out of there, had any of it gotten in his mouth? A fresh wave of nausea settled over him, releasing just as quickly. He was two weeks away from turning sixteen, a man in the eyes of so many. But it had been years since he’d lived as a normal child. Children didn’t go through what he did. He was property, and for the first time in years he  _ truly  _ felt it. 

“Minho?” Haelga asked through the door. “Can I come in, please?” 

Minho stood on shaky feet, moving to the doorway. “I-” He coughed, “I threw up,” he explained, guiltily. 

“I heard,” She said softly. “I’m not mad.” 

Minho unlocked the door. Haelga entered slowly. “What did he do to you?” She asked simply, brushing against his cheek. 

Minho shrugged, “Nothing worse than what they all do.” 

Haelga scrutinized him closely, “If that were the case you would have done what you always do - retreat into your shell. He did something different, something that broke you.” 

Minho looked into her eyes, somewhat angry, but mostly completely confused. “I don’t understand you, Haelga. You worship  _ Dibella,  _ why do you care if he did something twisted?”

Her eyes looked sad for a moment, “Because you didn’t agree to this life like I did, Minho.” She gestured to her belongings, “This, all of this? I chose this. This is my life, and I wanted it. That makes it different.” She caressed his forehead, “You didn’t choose this,” She pushed back his hair, “And you didn’t choose to give up your bed. Those choices were taken from you.” She stepped back, grabbing a bucket and a mop. “I think there is a lot to be gained in pleasure, and I am not afraid to profit from it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could free you, let you  _ choose  _ whether to be here or not.” She grabbed a pitcher of water from her table and filled the bucket, working quickly to clear the evidence of MInho’s upset. “So tell me,” She pushed, “What did he do to you?” 

“He,” Minho found himself embarrassed to speak, but she looked at him expectantly. “He peed on me,” He finally whispered. 

Haelga stilled, “Did he ask you?” 

Minho shook his head, “No, but-” 

She looked at him, “But it’s what you’re paid for?” She supplied, anticipating his protest. 

“Exactly, and,” He shrugged, “We’d already finished what he paid you for. But,” He paused, “He offered me fresh apples if I stayed for a second round. I just wanted an apple, Haelga.” 

“Would you have agreed to a second round if he’d been upfront with you?” 

Minho shook his head, “No. I don’t think I’d ever go willingly into that.” 

Haelga shrugged, “Some people have different preferences. I myself do not share that one, either. Even if I did, however,” Haelga continued, setting the mop back in the bucket and stepping away from it, “It isn’t fair if these preferences are not discussed prior to entering bed. I always make them account for the things they want to do before they are allowed near you or any other worker.” 

Minho processed that, “So, everything that has ever been done to me, you agreed to?” He thought back to the times he has been hit, choked, bitten, whipped.

“Well, you’ve never reacted like this before. So I can’t be certain,” Haelga furrowed her brow. “But there has never been a request for more than a common night, your mouth, your ass, a quick fuck.” Her eyes narrowed, “Have they been doing more than these things?” 

Minho looked at the floor, “I-” 

She sighed, “If I’d known this before-”  
“What?” Minho glared, “You’d have stopped them? You can’t anymore than I can, Haelga. I literally belong to the whims of men, per Ulfric fucking Stormcloak.” 

“Yes, but I’d have  _ discussed  _ them with you, prepared you,  _ helped  _ you. I would have given you salves, and care and guidance.” 

Minho blinked, “You-what?” 

“Minho,” She sighed, “Did you think me so cruel, all these years?” 

“You literally accepted a thirteen year old slave, just broken in by a housecarl in front of an audience,  _ Ulfric’s  _ audience. What else was I supposed to expect?” He shrugged, “And then to find out you worship Dibella? To find out the kinds of things you support in bed? Why would I think you would have any problem with what they do to me?” 

Haelga looked at him sadly. And Minho could tell she understood him, saw things from his perspective. “I’m sorry, Minho.” Was all she whispered, before she stepped back. “You can have the rest of the night to yourself.” 

She left him then, standing in her room. But Minho was done standing still. He slipped upstairs and pulled out the vile he’d drafted. He pulled out a bowl and soaked one of the apples in the potion. The other apple he twirled in his hands, not daring to press his lips to it. 

The evening drew closer, and when it was nearing dinner time, Minho let the soaked apple dry off, before he wrapped it carefully, not willing to lose a single drop of the potion. When it was solidly dark outside, he headed downstairs. Haelga looked at him, nervously as he moved over to her. He handed her the apple, the safe one, and walked away without a word. Maybe she’d be insulted, but hopefully she’d see it as the peace offering it was. 

Minho crossed the city to Honorhall Orphanage, making sure to blend in with the shadows as he slipped in through the side door. Everyone was asleep in their beds, no children locked out in the cold that night. Minho moved to the end of the room, where two doors stood. He opened the one on the right first, blood going cold as he took in the shackles fastened to the wall. More resolved than ever, Minho pushed over to the left door, finding Grelod fast asleep in her luxurious bed - such an insult to the shivering children in the other room. Minho set the apple down next to her bed, where she would see it first thing in the morning. If he had a guess, Grelod would hoard the fruit to herself, never thinking to give it to one of the children. He was taking a gamble, leaving the fruit there with the assumption that she would eat it. But it was what his gut was telling him to do. So he slipped from the room once more and headed towards the door. On his way out of the garden, Minho paused by the loose stone, finding his cloak waiting for him. He slipped it on once more, never mind how chilly it felt to the touch, and headed back to the Bunkhouse. The apple was gone when he returned. He grabbed a lantern and a cloth before he headed upstairs, making sure that, once he was inside his room, he immediately dipped the cloth in oil from the lamp, before he used the cloth to start a fire. He placed the cloth in the bowl, he was relieved it wasn’t a wooden bowl, and watched it burn the rest of the potion’s traces. He had purposefully created a health damaging potion and not a poison to be less traceable. Even still, the last thing he wanted was for Haelga or someone else to find the potion and think it was something safe. When it was safely burned away, he discarded the ashes of the cloth, said a prayer to Mara, and fell asleep. 

 

News didn’t take long to spread. Grelod the kind was dead. She’d been greeting the orphan children good morning, taking a bite of her ‘meager’ breakfast - the good food always went to the children  _ of course _ , when she had choked on the apple. She’d fallen to the ground, but she was dead before anyone could offer aid. Everyone was mourning her absence from the city, but Minho still noticed the way that the kids were running the street more often, genuine smiles on their faces. The community threw a memorial service for her in the temple of Mara. Minho had never been more grateful he wasn’t allowed inside. 

 

Things between him and Haelga had been a bit awkward since his episode, but she offered him a night off once a week, instead of once a fortnight. He agreed immediately. So the next time his break came, he eagerly climbed atop Mistveil Keep once more. His intent this time was not to remember Jisung, nor was it to look at the Lake. That night, MInho’s gaze stretched to the stars. He lay on his back, tracing constellations, heart somehow lighter, despite now being a murderer in addition to a whore. 

The only warning he had, before the knapsack slipped over his head, was the tiniest grind of stone behind him. He turned, ready to pounce at whatever was making it’s approach, but a flash of crimson red and black was all he saw before his head took a sudden blow and he was collapsing in darkness. 

When he finally came to, noticing numbly that his head was no longer covered, Minho blinked his eyes blearily open. 

“Well, well,” A voice hummed, “You are a tough one to get alone.” 

His eyes scanned the area around himself, a cave? 

“Who are you?” He managed to ask, frantic. His question was ignored.

“I suppose that isn’t all too surprising in a whore though, now is it?” It was a woman that was speaking to him. “And of course, the mark on your forehead means you’re a slave to boot. It made this whole…” She paused, and he could hear a smirk in her voice, “Meeting, much harder to organize.” 

“Who  _ are you _ ,” Minho asked again, this time voice firm. 

“Me?” Minho’s eyes traced against her shadowy figure as it stepped closer to the light. “My name is Astrid, little one.” She knelt before him, “And I’ve got a proposition for you.” She crouched in front of him. Minho realized suddenly that his hands were not bound like he’d been assuming. His body was merely slow to respond.

“Did you drug me?” He asked, lethargic. 

“Nothing quite like what you gave Grelod,” Astrid’s eyes twinkled. “But yes. The effects will wear off soon. Don’t worry yourself.” 

“Grelod?” Minho’s blood ran cold.

“Oh yes, little one,” Astrid laughed, deep and throaty. 

“We know  _ all  _ about what you did to that hag. Beautiful work, really.” She trailed off, “Even if it wasn’t your job to take care of.” 

You mentioned a proposition?” Minho found himself asking. He couldn’t keep up with his own brain, but he felt like it was an appropriate question. 

“Cutting right to the chase, are we?” Astrid leaned against the cave wall. “Very well, I am part of an organization, a brotherhood, of sorts. We were hired to deal with Grelod but you got there first. Normally, we’d probably just move on - you didn’t accept the payment after all, and it was a clean enough job I don’t mind our reputation extending to the kill.” 

“But?” Minho pushed.

“But why stop there?” She hummed. “Why end just her life, when there are so many more you could claim - lives that deserve to be snuffed out.” 

Perhaps Minho’s blood should have ran cold with the words, but he felt a thrill settle in his bones. “You want me to join you,” He surmised, “You want me to join the Dark Brotherhood.” 

“So you  _ have  _ heard of us.” Her tone was pleased. “Yes, Minho. We want you to join us.” 

“Can you get rid of the mark on my forehead?” He probably should have been surprised by the question, that it was the first thing his numb brain dragged out. But he wasn’t. Removing the mark someday was all he ever thought of. 

“Perhaps in time,” Astrid evaded a straight answer. “To be frank, I’m not sure any of us know how. Besides, the jobs we have for you would better suit your position as a slave. You might not realize it, young one, but you have access to men and women who are nigh untouchable to the rest of the world.”  

“Are you saying you can’t reach them?” Minho asked perplexed.

“Not at all,” She shook her head, “Merely that it would be much easier for you to do so than any of us.” She smiled, “And while you handle those jobs, we can handle others, in harder places.” 

“So,” Minho pressed, “If you won’t free me, nothing changes for me, and you continue to get more business. What’s actually in it for me?” 

“Besides the thrill of the kill?” She supplied. “Gold. Surely there are things you want to purchase that you can’t at the moment. As a member of the Brotherhood, you would find a share in the profit, to be spent as you desire, kept until you need it.” 

“Alright,” Minho agreed simply. “How will I find out about my contracts?” 

“One of us will simply..” She slowed, “ _ hire  _ you for the night, filling you in on details and locations.” 

“And the fact that I am bound to Riften?” Minho countered.

“Not a problem where our strings are tied. How would you feel about leaving the dirty city for other locations? Dawnstar, perhaps?” 

Minho suddenly caught a glimpse in his head of white snow and frozen shores. It transported him back to days running with Jisung. “And what if I needed to track someone down?” Minho asked, softly.

“A target?” Astrid pressed. “I’m sure a whore would have a long list of people to kill.” 

“No,” Minho shook his head, “A family member.” He wondered if Astrid’s face softened as much as her tone when she spoke to him.

“We could look into it,” She paused, “But by joining us, you wouldn’t be without family.” 

The idea intrigued him more than almost everything else she’d said. To not be alone would be wonderful. He’d still have to whore himself out for information, access and the like, but at least at the end of the day he’d get to pay back the injustice.

“I’m in,” He said, softly. “How do I prepare?” 

Astrid moved forward and handed him a simple dagger. “You learn to use this,” She also pulled out a ruby ring, “And this.” 

“What is it?” He asked, curiously.

“It increases stealth,” She said simply. “If you had access to your mana, I’d teach you how to cloak yourself, blend in with the shadows. But, as that isn’t an option right now, the ring will have to do.” 

Minho found his arms reaching out, he wasn’t even sure when he had regained his mobility. He slipped the ring on and found his vision somehow clearer and his body somehow lighter. He tucked the dagger into its sheath, before placing it in his boot. He stood up, hardly a sound escaping the motion and turned to Astrid. “Do you have my first contract, yet?” 

She shook her head, “No, but you can expect it soon.” She walked down the natural passageway of the cave, leading him towards moonlight. “Normally,” She said by way of small talk, “Id have brought you to a special shack we have up north,” She sighed, “But as you are a slave whose absence will not go unnoticed, I had to pick a spot close to town.” 

Minho glanced around the area as he appraised his position. “Which way is Riften?” He asked. 

Astrid pointed. “That way,” She said simply. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour.” 

Jisung glanced in that direction before turning back to thank her, but where she had been standing a moment before, nothing but shadow remained. “Huh,” He whispered. “I guess that’s a thing.” 

He headed back in the direction she had pointed, moving simply through the darkness with his thoughts ablaze. Had he really just agreed to join the Dark Brotherhood? It seemed impossible and completely surreal, but the knife in his boot and the ring on his finger continued to act as proof of his acquiescence.Maybe it was just because he’d felt nothing but relief at taking Grelod’s life, but he felt no real aversion to ridding the world of more filth. 

He arrived back in Riften, just as the sun was coming up. He made his way to Haelga’s Bunkhouse, slipping up the stairs to catch a few hours of sleep before he’d have to work. But for the first time, in a long time, he didn’t feel powerless. 

 

By the time Minho was 19, he had spent a solid amount of time in most of the eastern holds, Dawnstar, Riftin, Winterhold, and even more of the small towns in between - Iverstead, Shor’s Stone. And, in the three years since he’d joined the brotherhood, he had cleanly completed more than two dozen contracts. Of all the brotherhood members who came to bring him information on his latest targets, Nazir was his favorite. The tall, redguard had a boisterous laugh, and together they liked to pretend they were actually doing what everyone thought they were - making loud noises and moaning for all the world to hear. It actually usually resulted in Minho getting more clients - something he’d learned to bare with in life. Maybe it was the fact that he was able to fight back in other ways, or maybe he had just finally begun to accept life as it was. He still didn’t  _ like  _ being used; he wasn’t sure he ever would. But, accepting it brought him a lot of peace, and  _ every now and then  _ he found a skilled enough client to not make him totally miserable. Of course, the last one that had been worth anything in bed had also been his contract, so he’d made sure the man had an extra happy ending, before the dagger sliced open his throat. After he’d been sure he was dead, he’d taken the time to scrape the dagger along his own chest, screaming for all the world to hear. 

When Dagur, the owner of Winterhold’s Frozen Hearth, stumbled in, he’d found Minho covered in blood, crying about the ‘man in black’ that had appeared from the shadows. Dagur looked pale, as he covered Minho in his large fur cloak, calling out for Nelacar, a wizard currently staying in the inn to come heal the prostitute. Minho got sick satisfaction out of everyone fawning over him, knowing  _ he  _ was the one they were all terrified would melt out of the shadows - that  _ he  _ was  _ Lino Shadow-Tongue.  _ It was Nazir, of course, who finally gave him the name, teasing him about how many different uses he’d made of his tongue. And Minho definitely used his tongue to spin the lie that he had been attacked along with his target, playing it up, to earn the two weeks off he received in apology for his scare. Minho didn’t have a favorite kill, but that one would probably always stand out in his mind. 

Well, maybe Minho did have a favorite kill: Frorkmar Banner-Torn - a Stormcloak Captain he’d had the pleasure of disposing of in Dawnstar. From the minute he’d entered the city, Frorkmar had belittled him for his race - constantly spitting in his direction when he walked by. Of course, his disgust hadn’t stopped him from ordering the first night with Minho. 

He was the first man, however, that wanted Minho to fuck him, not the other way around. He’d spat into Minho’s mouth, demanding Minho use it to eat out his ass. Minho had done so, long since numb to the weird things different people were into. The whole time he prepared Frorkmar, the man had belittled him, pulling at his hair, and smacking his ass. And, even if it was his own ass that sank down on Minho’s cock, he still made sure Minho knew who was the lesser of them - tried to make it seem like he was doing Minho a kindness. When Astrid had appeared a few days later with his contract, Minho had smirked, slipping his ring on and immediately enacting his vengeance on the representation of so much wrong with the eastern world.  

But the real reason Frorkmar was his favorite kill lied in the news he received, rifling through the captain’s things. He’d poured through a letter between him and “Galmar Stone-Fist”, in which the latter bitched about how he was cheated in a sparring match, losing to none other than “Jisung Free-Winter.” In his letter, he claimed that Jisung had used some sort of magic to thwart Galmar’s success. Minho had snorted at that, knowing Jisung had never had any type of skill with mana. He doubted, even in almost ten years, that Jisung would have improved that. “So you are alive,” He whispered to the parchment. 

When Nazir came back to Dawnstar two months later, Minho asked if there were any contracts in Windhelm for him. 

Nazir had raised his brow, “Any particular reason?” 

Minho shrugged, “I’m getting a little sick of this side of the mountains. The last year I’ve been circling between here and Winterhold. I’m ready for a brand new city.” 

Nazir studied him closely, “Well, the next contract is for Winterhold, but I’ll see if I can’t swing something your way.” 

Minho had agreed simply, gone to Winterhold, eliminated a few more contracts, until finally, there he was, finishing the carriage ride up to the frozen city of Windhelm. He’d seen glimpses of it during travels, and once, far in the distance, from the boat that had brought him and his family from Solstheim.  _ Jisung _ , he thought to himself,  _ Please be here. Please forgive the things I’ve done.  _

The biggest problem with having strings pulled for him was that this string brought him directly under Ulfric’s nose. 

When Ulfric had given Minho to the housecarl, at age 13, he’d promised the man a virgin - that’s why he’d spent so much coin to sink his cock in him. But the same night, after Minho had been fucked open and bleeding, Ulfric had gone into his room. He hadn’t summoned Minho, hadn’t paid for him; he hadn’t needed to. While Minho was passed around from person to person, inn to inn, town to town - the one person who owned him was Ulfric. So Ulfric always took him when he wanted. And it wasn’t just a quick fuck like most of his other clients. 

Sometimes Ulfric would ride into whatever town Minho was currently occupying and spend hours above Minho, pushing him into his own bed. After Minho had learned to give oral, Ulfric had made him do it as often as he’d used his ass. After he’d seen the scars on Minho’s back from whips that had torn his flesh, he’d brought out his own. For every thing that others did to Minho, Ulfric made sure to double and triple the intensity and frequency - to make sure that Minho never forgot exactly who he belonged to. 

But it was MInho’s choice to come to Windhelm. Even if he knew Ulfric would see him, would probably toss him around between Galmar and his brother, like that one time down in Shor’s Stone, it was worth it - if he could only see Jisung for a moment. 

He excited the carriage the second it rolled to a stop, not waiting for any of the other slaves as he moved towards the gate. His cloak was lined with fur, a gift Ulfric had sent him when he’d first been shipped up to Winterhold. It was hooded, and covered his whole body, which was good since he couldn’t remember the last time his clothing had covered more than the necessary bits, and even then barely. He approached the gates, the other slaves trailing behind him. Most of them were being sent to the local inn, Candlehearth Hall, to work under someone named Susanna.

However, as he prepared to enter the gates, the guards barred his entrance. 

“Who goes there?” One of them spat. 

Some of the other slaves lowered their hoods, various markings showing on their foreheads. “We’ve been sent to work the inn,” One of them, a young woman probably no more than fifteen spoke. 

“Ah, fresh meat,” The other guard spat, licking his lips. “Been a while since we’ve been able to taste anything new.” 

“None of you are filthy elves, though, right?” The first guard snapped. All eyes shifted to Minho. 

“Show yourself, wench.” 

Minho laughed, for once eager to show off the mark on his forehead.

He lowered his hood, making sure his hair was brushed to the side, Ulfric’s personal brand gleaming in the moonlight. 

“Fuck,” the whispered curse came to the right. “He’s got Ulfric’s mark.” 

“Doesn’t make him any less of a slut,” The other guard shrugged. “Just means Ulfric gets to wet his dick before the rest of us.” The guard approached him languidly, hand raising to touch Minho’s chin. “Who should ask for? When I come to Candlehearth later?” 

Minho felt where his dagger, cool in the climate, rested against his thigh. He itched to stick it straight beneath the man’s jaw, up through his mouth, pinning his tongue to the roof. “Lee Know,” He said softly, biting back his disdain. 

“And how many men have known you?” The guard asked, bringing his hand beneath Minho’s cloak to cup at his crotch. 

“Enough to show me how to please,” Minho purred, despite the anger rising in him. It was one thing when he was paid, expecting it. But it still made his blood run cold when anyone thought they could touch him just because of his status. 

The man grinned beneath his helmet, “I look forward to it, then.” He rubbed against Minho once more before stepping back. “Alright, get to the inn, the lot of you,” He barked. “It’s just past the gates, impossible to miss.” Minho waited for the rest of the slaves to pass him first, watching as the few who were not sex workers trail off towards the Palace of the Kings, to get their orders from the Steward. He moved to follow after the girls, though, bearing with it as the guards cupped his ass. 

He made his way to the large inn directly in front of him, eyes scanning the streets, hoping against hope that he’d stumble upon his best friend. 

The inn was full of music as he approached, better than some of the other places he’d been as far as quality. He wondered if Jisung still sang. He’d never been in Windhelm before, but everything was bringing up memories and thoughts, all because he knew Jisung was somewhere in the city, or would be shortly. 

Susanna was an interesting woman, proudly bearing the title of wicked. She actually was surprisingly kind, for someone so hated by those around her. What surprised him the most was how kind she was to him, as a part dunmer. And the more he talked with her, the more he realized that was part of why she was so hated. She didn’t bow down to the obvious racism like the rest of the town. 

She led him to a small communal room, where the various workers would sleep, when not assigned to one of the private rooms and the clients inside. The first night they were given to sleep, well all the others were. The second that Elda, the inn owner, noticed the mark on his forehead, she directed him to the palace.

“Ulfric always demands the first night of his personal slaves,” She said, simply. “Return when he’s done with you.” She was neither cruel nor warm to MInho in that moment. He’d heard a few of her comments about the dark elves since he’d entered, somewhat derogatory. But when she gave him instructions, she wasn’t malicious. In fact, she was barely paying attention to him, smiling as a tall men entered the building. “Brunwulf,” She smiled, beckoning him over. “Come take a seat!” Minho didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, on his way out the door to head to Ulfric’s chambers. 

When he entered the Palace of the Kings, the hall was somewhat quiet, a few stragglers seated at the grand table, drinking from mugs. The large throne was empty. Minho cleared his throat as he approached. 

“What do you want, half breed?” Someone barked, noticing his ears. 

“I’ve been sent to service Ulfric,” Minho said simply. “Where can I find him?” 

“What would Ulfric want with you?” one of the men asked. 

“Shut up, Jorleif,” another said. “Can’t you see his forehead?” 

“Can you point me in the right direction?” Minho said, ignoring their bickering. 

“Of course,” Jorleif said, blushing as he stood. “Right this way.” 

The wily man led him through a side chamber and up some cracked steps. “You can find the Jarl’s chambers at the far end of the corridor, up the stairs,” Jorleif explained, once they were at the top of the current staircase. “He won’t be expecting you, so try not to get gutted.” 

“Thank you for the advice,” Minho said dryly. 

He made his way down the narrow corridor, knocking on the door, from which he could hear loud moaning and girlish giggles. 

The noises broke off as Ulfric’s loud voice boomed through the heavy door. “I thought I asked not to be interrupted.” 

Minho wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want anyone to get in trouble for his  _ not  _ bedding Ulfric that evening. So with a shrug, he opened the unlocked door. “I thought you might make an exception for me,” He said boldly, slipping his cloak to the ground. 

Of course ulfric would have a raised bed, elevated up several wooden steps on a fucking  _ platform. _

“Minho,” Ulfric purred, pushing aside the young girl currently enveloping his dick. She knocked into the teeth of the other woman on the bed, who had been locked in a kiss when Minho had first pressed in. Ulfric stood, body uncovered, as he demanded the women leave. “Your half assed services will no longer be required,” He made sure to insult them, as they scurried for their robes and slipped down the stairs. Ulfric approached Minho, easily ripping off the shreds of clothing that still clung to his form. 

“I didn’t know you’d be joining us in Windhelm so soon,” He hummed, as he appraised Minho’s bare body. “I thought Dagur paid me for another four months of your services in Winterhold.” 

Minho shrugged, “Maybe I missed my master?” 

Not exactly a lie. Jisung and he had slit their palms open when they were children, pledging themselves as blood brothers. That was the only oath he’d ever really cared about. 

Ulfric grinned, “I see you’ve gotten better at faking your interest?” 

“Who ever said I was faking?” Minho taunted. “I’m fairly certain the way I’ve spilled over your chest before should strongly indicate whether or not I was faking anything.” 

Ulfric laughed then, stepping back and pulling Minho with him. The light of a candle illuminated Minho’s chest. Ulfric’s eyes narrowed in on the pale scar where he’d slashed himself to fake the attack in Winterhold. Ulfric’s fingers ran along the shape. “Who dared to cut you?” He snapped, angry. “Who dared to mark what is mine?” In the next moment he was flipping MInho, pushing him down to kneel on the wooden steps. Ulfric ran his fingers along the latest scars from whippings and other beatings he’d taken in bed since last he’d seen Ulfric in Dawnstar. 

He knew what was coming, then. It was what Ulfric always did. He braced his palms against the wooden steps as Ulfric stepped back to get what he needed. What he wasn’t expecting was for Ulfric to immediately spread his legs, forcing his dick, still slicked up slightly from the woman he’d been inside, inside of MInho in a rough push. He didn’t prep him, didn’t finger him, just slammed into him with no preamble. Minho cried out, biting his lip so hard he drew blood. 

“You’re not leaving here,” Ulfric snapped, “Never leaving Windhelm.” He raised the buckled strap he’d retrieved a moment earlier and lashed it across Minho’s back, moaning loudly when Minho seized around him. “At least if you are  _ here _ , I can monitor who comes to your bed, who thinks they can mark you.” 

He was relentless, vicious, in his attacks against Minho’s skin, all the while, driving deeper and deeper into his ass. He whipped him until Minho could feel the blood running down the small of his back, tears in his eyes. And when he was done with that, he flipped Minho over, so he was facing his chest. And then he picked up a dagger Minho hadn’t seen earlier, not hesitating, despite Minho’s wide eyes, do drag it along the scar. When he was done reopening the wound, he dropped the knife, dipping his hand in Minho’s blood to write along his chest, as if with a pen and ink. He smeared crude letter into Minho’s skin that he refused to look at, to see what they said. And only when he was satisfied with that did he yank Minho forward by the hair to press his lips to. He devoured Minho’s mouth, hands pressing on his back against the fresh cuts there, as he released inside him. And then, unsatisfied with Minho’s lack of arousal, he reached down, fingers still blood stained, to force Minho’s limp dick into action, pumping him quick and slow until he was releasing around Ulfric’s softening member. He pulled from Minho, grabbing hold of his seed from Minho’s ass, and mixing it with Minho’s own mess, before he smeared it over Minho’s forehead. 

“You are mine,” He growled, “And you will never be anyone else's.” He pushed Minho back against the stairs, stepping around him to collect his torture tools. He washed his hands in a small basin on one of the side tables, rang a bell for a servant and crawled into his bed.

When the beckoned servant entered, eyes going wide with shock as they took in Minho’s wrecked form, Ulfric lazily instructed him to ‘fetch the wizard’, and ‘remove the filth’. 

The servant bowed and did as instructed, gathering Minho’s torn clothes and fur cloak from the entrance, before approaching Minho with an outstretched hand. “I can stand on my own,” Minho said weakly, moving to his feet. Ulfric laughed behind him, as he shakily approached the doorway. 

The servant looked like he was about to put the cloak on Minho, but Ulfric interrupted the action, “That cloak had better not have a single drop of blood on it,” he ordered. Dooming Minho to nakedness as he moved through the corridor. 

“Which way?” Minho croaked once they were out of Ulfric’s chambers. 

“I’m so sorry,” The servant whispered, “It’s a long walk.” 

“I’m okay,” Minho assured him, “Just dizzy.” 

He was not okay. Nothing about the way that Minho was feeling was okay. Every part of his body ached, but his heart was straight up shattered. 

The servant led him back down the stairs, slowly, to the great hall. Jorleif’s eyes, as well as a few others traced his naked body, as he stumbled towards the door the servant signified. The journey up the next stone steps was brutal, but he staggered near the end of the final corridor, right before the door to the wizard’s chambers. 

The servant looked at him in shock, moving to help, but Minho shook his head. The servant nodded, pounding on the door. “Wuunferth!” He snapped, “You are needed.” 

The door opened, eyes wide, hair and beard matted from sleep. “What’s the problem?” He asked, voice gruff. 

The servant glanced in Minho’s direction behind him, opening his mouth to say something, but Wuunferth was already moving past him to pick up Minho. “Ulfric?” He asked knowingly. 

“Yes,” The servant whispered. 

“Fetch hot water and clean cloths,” Wuunferth ordered, bringing Minho into the chamber. 

He helped minho sit in a wooden chair, “Let’s take care of your chest first,” He hummed, “So we can get a better look at your back.” 

Minho nodded, head fuzzy. Wuunferth’s hand started glowing a bright yellow-gold, as he started to heal Minho’s chest. It tingled against his skin, as his flesh began to knit itself back together. He groaned, feeling his own energy sap a little at the contact. When his chest was patched up somewhat, Wuunferth released the spell, clearing his side table. He instructed Minho to drink a quick potion of healing - for any internal infections, and another of stamina - to keep his energy up through the process, before he had him lay face down on the wooden surface. The tingling resumed as Wuunferth moved to close up the rest of his wounds on his back. The servant returned with the water, and Wuunferth directed him on how to clean up the blood, and other fluids maring his skin, starting with his forehead. Wuunferth himself moved between Minho’s legs and carefully cleaned the area, running a healing spell along the bloodied walls where Ulfric had pressed in with no preparation. 

When he was finally done, and stepping back to help Minho move back to his feet, Minho asked, softly, “How much do I owe you?” 

Wuunferth sighed, “Nothing.” 

Minho’s eyes widened, “But, you used so many supplies, and”

“And you don’t deserve anything about the state you were brought to me in.” 

“I’m a slave,” Minho said, awkwardly. “And half dark-elf.” 

“And I’m a heretic,” Wuunferth shrugged. “That doesn’t justify the things done to us.” 

Minho couldn’t remember the last time someone had helped him without thinking of the profit or benefits they could reap. “I-” 

Go on now,” Wuunferth smiled simply. “You deserve a good night’s rest.” 

“Thank you,” Minho bowed slightly. “I’ll repay you somehow, whether you want it or not.” He paused at the table where his cloak and ripped clothing lay, “Although, do you think you could answer something for me?” 

“Sure,” Wuunferth smiled, “If I can.” 

“Do you know if Jisung Free-Winter still lives here in Windhelm?” He bit his lip, not sure if his question would be well received. 

Wuunferth raised his brow, “Brunwulf’s nephew?” He thought for a moment, “Sure. Although, I think he’s currently out on an errand for one of the local shops. He owe you money, or something?” 

Minho smiled, slyly. “Or something,” He responded gently. Slipping the cloak around his shoulders. His clothes were worthless, but he could still conceal himself somewhat with the cloak. He nodded to the others quickly before he finally ducked out of the building. 

 

By the time he got back to the inn, everyone was asleep, including Elda and Susanna. He made to move towards the common sleeping area, but was stopped in the hallway but a shadowy figure that appeared. “Shadow-Tongue,” It whispered. Minho froze, turning to the voice. 

“Astrid,” He said, smoothly. 

“You seem worn out,” She whispered, once they were a distance away from the other rooms, huddled in the dark. 

“Rough client,” Was all Minho supplied.

“Hmm,” She paused, “Perhaps it’s time to pull you from this life,” She mused. 

Minho shook his head, “Not quite yet. There is someone here I need to see, first.” 

“The one you spoke of long ago?” She raised her brow. “Is that why you asked Nazir to bring you here?”

“Yes,” He answered simply.

“Have you made contact?” She inquired, simply. 

He shook his head, “He’s out on business, currently, but he should be back soon - should the rumours prove true.” 

“I had hoped to seek your advice on a contract,” She mused, softly, letting the conversation drop. 

“Someone here?” He asked, curiously.

“No, currently there are no contracts here. But this contract is unique,” she pursed her lips. “We recently had a new recruit join the brotherhood,” She paused, “And after a series of events, the recruit has named herself ‘Listener’, claiming to hear directly from the Night Mother, herself.” 

Minho’s eyes widened, “Is that even possible?” 

“Cicero seems to think so,” she said, clearly without much founding in his words.

“What’s the contract?” Minho pressed.

She laughed bitterly, “Someone wants us to kill the emperor.” 

Minho laughed, “Are you serious? That’s suicide!” 

“Yes, well, that’s why I want your advice. For all we know, this is just an attempt to destroy the guild. But, can you even imagine what would happen if we succeeded with this kill? The reputation it would bring back to our little ragtag team?” 

“But why do you want  _ my  _ opinion?” 

Astrid laughed, “Because, Shadow-Tongue. I thought I’d get maybe three kills out of you before you got caught. A slave, with no mana, training or natural inclination?  You should have failed a few missions in. And yet, you’ve proven yourself time and again, with your cunning and execution. You are a valuable member of the organization, and Nazir is convinced you are the hope for the new generation.” 

Minho blushed at her words, “I-” 

“Don’t worry about it,” She said, pushing aside her praise in that embarrassed way she always did. “I’m just saying I could use you closer to the sanctuary.” 

“I can’t leave yet,” Minho said sadly. 

“I figured that would be your answer,” She accepted, “Just know the offer is on the table if you change your mind. We’ll figure out a way to get that mark off someday.” 

“Maybe,” Minho shrugged. “What advice were you looking for?” He brought the subject back to her purpose in coming.

“Do we try it?” She shrugged. “We don’t have any contacts in Solitude, too many imperials bent on our total destruction.” She smiled wryly. “Is it worth the risk? The potential for a trap?” 

“Who could you send to Solitude?” Minho asked, “Do you have a plan for infiltration?” 

“We’re still working on that,” She paused, “I’d kind of hoped we could get you out of here, send you to the imperial city with intel on Ulfric. Your brand would lend you credibility as an insider to his way of life.” She hesitated, “But I’m not going to ruin your chances of a reunion.” 

“Maybe,” Minho paused, thinking of Ulfric’s treatment of him that night, his threats to never let him leave. “Maybe I can convince the person to leave?” 

“You think they would?” She paused.

“I have no idea,” Minho shook his head. “I haven’t seen them in years. They might not even remember me.” He hesitated, “But if I could convince him, he’d have just as much intel, if not more.” 

“Well,” Astrid hummed, “I don’t expect you to figure it out in the next twenty minutes,” She grinned. “Just, see what you can do?” 

Minho nodded, “Of course, Astrid.” 

“I’ve never taught you the words to open the sanctuary,” She says before turning away. “You’ve never needed them before.” 

“Do I need them now?” He countered.

“If you leave before we speak again, yes.” She grinned, “Let’s see if you can figure this out.  _ What is the Music of Life? _ ” She asks, softly. 

Minho furrows his brow, thinking back on his own life. Music was supposed to be powerful, capable of moving people to do things or feel things they hadn’t before. He thought back on every tavern he’d ever worked, the loud music, singing, drunken dancing. To him, for all it’s revelry, none of that seemed like a true enough summary of  _ life.  _ He pondered the moments where he felt most connected to himself, to the earth, to existence. It wasn’t in those taverns, or beneath the thousands of bodies he’d pleasured. He was never more at peace then when he was quiet, within himself, gazing at the stars - like the first time he’d done so with Jisung, just  _ being  _ together, side by side in the snow.

“Silence,” Minho whispered, eventually. “The music of life is silence.” 

Astrid beamed at him, “Of course it is, my brother.” And then she was shifting into shadows once more, leaving him alone to himself and his thoughts. 

 

Three days later, when Susanna directed him towards a private room, the last thing he expected was to find Jisung, cute, adorable,  _ naked  _ Jisung, snoring softly on the mattress. He knew that Jisung hadn’t purchased him, himself. Susanna had mentioned that the client was a very important, probably soon to be family member of Elda, the inn’s owner, and that he was to be shown a very special time. 

It was with fondness that he approached the bed, pushing back Jisung’s hair. His heart seized in upon itself when he realized he wasn’t the only one who had skin painted with scars. He ran the tips of his fingers softly over Jisung’s cheek and lip. He wondered how he’d gotten the claw marks on his face. Was it natural? Forced? He shivered, not wanting to picture Jisung’s pain. He moved to check Jisung’s forehead beneath his hair, reassuring himself that at the very least Jisung was not bound to a master like himself. But his forehead was warm to the touch. “Did the fever come before or after you drank yourself silly?” Minho whispered, grabbing the basin with cool water and a cloth. He wrung it out, applying it to the younger’s skin. “You never were good at taking care of yourself,” Minho clucked his tongue. 

His own body hurt. The night after Ulfric had destroyed him, he’d been forced to bare with Galmar’s usual routine. The next day had been the guard, and last night had been Galmar’s brother Rolff & his bitch of a best friend, Angrenor Once-Honored. However, kneeling beside Jisung, MInho felt his pain disappear in fondness. 

He attended to Jisung, until his fever had faded, placing a simple kiss to his skin before coming to lean against him on the floor. His outfit left him no warmth, Ulfric had sent over a whole new trunk of revealing materials. But even if he was dressed for pleasure not practicality, he’d never felt warmer than he did, breathing in Jisung’s same air. 

The next morning was a rush of emotions, excitement, teasing, love, worry,  _ belonging,  _ and hope. Jisung seemed so assured that he’d be able to get Minho out of his position. But Minho knew it just wasn’t a possibility. Jisung hadn’t noticed the scars on his back or chest, but Minho felt them ache when he considered whether Ulfric would ever let him go. 

Jisung left, hope shining in his eyes, and Minho wasn’t strong enough to crush it. 

He knew Ulfric would send Jisung on the mission, of course he’d take advantage of the boy’s eagerness. Minho prepared to wait a week for Jisung’s return. But the boy was back in less than two days, determination replacing hope. 

“Ji?” Minho asked, quickly shutting the door. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.” He pulled Jisung into a hug, desperate to hold him close. He’d honestly been worried Jisung wouldn’t make it back. 

“I wasn’t expecting to be back so soon,” Jisung agreed. He pushed Minho back, scanning his eyes. “But MIn, we don’t have time.” Minho’s heart froze.  _ What had he done _ ? “I know this is going to sound crazy, but,” Jisung paused, eyes unwavering as he spoke. “Run away with me.” 

Minho felt a thousand thoughts flush through his mind. Hesitation, panic, fear, longing, acceptance. He had always been desperate to escape Ulfric’s clutches. Part of him had considered running before. But he’d always remained, first believing he would find Jisung if he stayed in the rotation of Ulfric’s slave trade, and then having a purpose with the brotherhood. But, even if Astrid hadn’t been hoping he could convince Jisung himself, even if he had nowhere to go, no plan, no purpose and nothing to stand for - Minho would have said yes. He would have said yes because he’d had plenty of those other things over the past ten years - but he hadn’t had Jisung, and so he hadn’t been whole. What did it matter what he wouldn’t have, now, if he finally had the one thing that mattered. 

Jisung was staring at him, eyes still firm, but wavering around the corners, as Minho processed his request. 

“Okay,” Minho said simply. He had come back to the belly of the beast for Jisung, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice to leave, now that they were finally together. 

“Okay?” Jisung asked, voice disbelieving. 

“Where else would I go, if not with you?” 

Jisung grinned, “Oh,” He said simply.

“Oh,” Minho agreed. Oh, indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay!! So!!! Yeah. If you made it, whew! That was dark. But hopefully a dark you could handle. If you are coming down from above, see the tags bellow.   
> I would LOVE comments, especially as this chapter was HARD to write. But, as I am a victim of assault, please try to not shred me to pieces. This was not about glorifying abuse. Okay? Okay!! next chapter we'll finally see that escape! 
> 
> Tags/Triggers: 
> 
> Underage: Minho is a sex slave. He gets very much pushed into this early in life. It's a different world, different customs. But he is underage in our world.   
> Urination  
> Cutting  
> Whipping  
> Spitting  
> Blood Play  
> Degradation. A fuck ton of it. 
> 
> Okay wow. Those tags look so much worse when you list them. !!

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this didn't totally bore you. I will probably post the next few chapters in the next few days, but if I post too many, now, I will not have a backup if I hit a roadblock in my writing. So, even though I have over 10,00 words written, bare with me.  
> As always, I adore all of you who read.....  
> Please comment/kudos if you feel like it...but know that each one counts and helps me feel inspired to continue writing.  
> ~SweetPotatoKimchi~!


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